Caught In the Gear's Teeth
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: After the fall of SHIELD, Steve finds Bucky- but they fall through a portal before they can properly reunite. With a Bucky from 1944 and Tony from 2014, he thinks that maybe things will be alright in this Middle Earth. Even though they're stuck with the Fellowship of the Ring, the Winter Soldier is still out there, and the Serum is gone. Stark Spangled Soldier pairing.
1. Portals

First published LotR fic! Wooo! Yet another Avengers crossover, but I can't help it. I love the MCU and have been obsessed with the Tolkienverse for over a dozen years now. It was natural to combine the two.

Yes, this is a trio pairing- kind of. (It's me, of course there's a twist.) Yes, it is Stark Spangled Soldier. Don't like, you know where the back button is.

Fair warning that this is a _blend_ of the LotR bookverse and movieverse. There are some parts that are from each, but for clarity of the story it is mostly movieverse. You'll know the different parts when you see them.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright and am making no money off of this.

* * *

 **Chapter One: Portals**

" _You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named "Bush", "Dick", and "Colin." Need I say more?"_

― _Chris Rock_

When Steve got up that morning, he had been full of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would find Bucky this time. For the past year he and Sam had only been able to track The Winter Soldier through pictures social media users sent him, and the occasional destroyed HYDRA base. He never thought he would thank God for Twitter.

They had found a battle raging between the remains of HYDRA and the Winter Soldier. Of course they sided with Bucky. How could they not?

Somewhere down the line though, there had been some kind of weird portal… and Bucky was herded right into it. There had been no chance to see it, just a circle of blue light on the ground around a corner. For the second time, Steve watched his friend fall.

For the first time, he jumped after him.

Bucky's eyes went wide, and he made motions as if to claw his way right back up the portal. Their fingertips touched...

"STEVE!" Sam's shout was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

Coming to was an unpleasant experience. It started with being slapped in the face by some kind of leather glove, or maybe just a really calloused hand. Huh, it shouldn't hurt that much...

Groaning, he allowed his body to come to awareness. This was taking longer than it had in years.

"Wake up, man-brat!" jeered a horrible, nasal voice in front of his face.

When Steve managed to pry his eyes open, he wished he hadn't. The face in front of him was uneven and misshapen, one neon green eye noticeably bigger than the other and half its nose missing. Rows of jagged, rotting teeth were bared at him in the most terrifying smile Steve had seen since Loki.

He simply frowned at the creature. "Where am I?" he asked looking around.

There were more of the creatures, all with black, brown or green hides and a range of features that made the Chitauri look like Playboy cover models. Some were crouched around a fire, others gathered around something on the opposite side, and still others circled around him, salivating and gnashing their teeth.

The thing in front of his face smacked him again. "You will speak when spoken to, brat!" it hissed at him.

What made them think of him as a child? Ever since the Serum he at least looked old enough to buy cigarettes… "Yes, sir," Steve replied sarcastically.

He was slapped a third time. This time there was a ripping sort of pain he hadn't felt often since Project Rebirth. Something warm trickled down his cheek, and he froze. Blood. Somehow these things had claws able to cut through even his skin without effort.

Still, he was never one to know when to shut his mouth. "I can do this all day," he said with a low chuckle.

"Maybe you can, but I can't, punk!" Bucky's voice made his heart beat more rapidly. He hadn't heard that much emotion in his old friend's voice since the train, not counting the rage of the Winter Soldier. Had that portal somehow helped?

There was a snarl and Bucky grunted as some sort of animal tied to a stick was lifted up on the shoulders of four of the creatures. "Oh no, oh no no no no no," Bucky protested, panic edging into his voice, "You're not going to cook me, goddammit!" The animal squirmed in its bounds, twisting this way and that and straining the ropes.

Wait, it wasn't an animal. Even with Steve's suddenly shitty eyesight he could see that much now. It was Bucky.

It spurred fear in Steve that he hadn't felt since Nat was shot by the Winter Soldier. He struggled against his bindings, to no effect. Either these were the strongest ropes he had ever come across or there was something horribly wrong.

"Oh my god, Stevie." Bucky's voice made him look over at the fire again. "Look down."

When he did, his chest tightened and he realized belatedly that he was having a panic attack but couldn't find it in himself to care. There was no sign of the musculature he had gotten used to, just a pigeon chest. Delicate artist's hands were tied in the region of bony hips, and boots that used to fit were big enough that he didn't even feel them.

It was a nightmare. It had to be.

The pain from that thing's nails refuted it.

There was a yell and the stick was heaved over the fire. They were going to smoke Bucky to death.

Two of the creatures fell down dead, and one was close enough for Steve to see the yellow feathers at the back end of an arrow in its eye. Hawkeye must have found them! But the archer he knew didn't use yellow anything…

No, it became obvious quickly that Hawkeye wasn't there. Instead four of the strangest people Steve had ever seen were sprinting down an embankment toward them. In the light of the fire, shiny objects- weapons?- glinted in their hands.

The battle was over almost as soon as it began. The skill of the people who invaded, despite being outnumbered three to one, was too great for anything else to happen.

Two, a blonde and a dark haired man, lifted Bucky off the fire as soon as they got to him. The blonde cut him free with one of two knives he had in hand while the other charged with a wicked looking two handed sword.

A man with brown hair was fast despite the large shield and the size of the sword he used single-handedly. He defended the blonde, who got Bucky to his feet, and not a single one of the creatures got past him.

Meanwhile a man about Steve's current height aimed directly for him. He was robust at first glance, but the two bladed axe he wielded with ease said a great deal. That axe chopped into the tree he was tied to, freeing him.

"Thanks!" Steve called, and dove for where something gleamed red and white.

Bucky was already there, rummaging in the mess. "I think I've gone nuts!" he coughed.

"I know I have!" Steve returned. His shield was right there, and he hefted it just in time to keep himself and Bucky from getting impaled.

It was strange to be in a fight with something taller than him. Steve took advantage of the blade sliding off his shield to bash the thing in the head. The hit wasn't as strong as he liked, but the creature was dazed enough that he was able to slice its neck open with the edge of the shield.

A shot rang out.

The dark-haired man spun around, only to stare as a creature that would have sneaked up on him fell down dead. With a look around, he cleaned black slime off his blade and sheathed it.

Steve took that as the signal that it was safe. It was awkward putting his shield on his back, where he usually had it. The Kevlar armor that he had gotten so used to didn't fit anymore.

"Thanks for the save, guys," Bucky said to the strangers with a shaky laugh.

"You are most welcome," the dark haired man said, with a signal to the blonde.

The blonde, a strangely young looking man for the kind of skill he fought with, whistled out a birdcall. With aching longing, it Steve remembered how Jim used that same signal.

Sudden realization made him look so fast at Bucky that his head spun a little. He nearly choked when he finally processed what he was seeing.

This wasn't just Bucky, it was his friend as he was in their time with the Howling Commandos. Short hair, some stubble, and a blue coat with a white wing embroidered on the left arm. He even had the same gun, Steve realized with longing, an M-1 Garand with scope.

"Stevie? What's going on? Why's your suit different?" Bucky asked, quickly coming to a similar conclusion, "Why are _you_ different?" His eyes were starting to bug out with shock.

The strangers were almost completely ignored for the moment. They were shifting around, but only to clean their weapons. And stare, but that wasn't important right now.

"What's the date?" Steve asked quickly.

"Um, sometime in the middle of October, 1944," Bucky responded, bewildered, "We've been playing hide and seek with HYDRA all month, remember?" He gave his friend a look, asking if he was okay.

It made a bizarre amount of sense. At the exact same time, it made none. "Bucky, I'm not the Steve who's currently running around Poland in a panic wondering where you got yourself off to," Steve said calmly, "This is going to sound nuts but I'm a future version."

Bucky looked to consider it. "How far in the future?" he questioned.

"Seventy years," Steve replied with a grimace.

At first there was no reaction. All Bucky did was stare at him as though he had grown another head.

Steve took the opportunity to check his pockets and utility belt, make sure everything was there. Luckily it was.

It was as he was trying to turn his cell phone on that Bucky began laughing, hysterically.

A little worried now, Steve looked up at his friend. He tilted his head sideways.

It only made Bucky laugh harder. "I fell into a stupid portal, monsters tried having me for lunch, I was saved by King John and his friends, and you're tiny and from the future!" he crowed, tears in his eyes as he stuffed his knife into his boot.

"Basically," Steve agreed with an apologetic look at the strangers.

The dark haired man gave him a knowing look. "We should move, soon," he advised in a slightly English accent, "We do not know if this was the whole company." He grimaced in distaste as he looked around at the carnage.

"Right. I'm Steve Rogers, this is Bucky Barnes," Steve introduced them quickly, "Thanks for the rescue from these… What are they?" They looked like nothing he had ever seen.

"Orcs," the blonde supplied helpfully, though not without a strange look.

"Orcs," Steve repeated with a nod of finality.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn," the dark haired man said, gesturing to each of the others as he mentioned them, "These are Boromir of Gondor, Legolas of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood, and Gimli son of Gloin." His grey eyes were sharp and analytical as he watched Steve and Bucky for any sign of recognition.

There was none, just a, "Nice to meet you," from Bucky as he holstered his pistol. His rifle was slung over his shoulder.

Then an old man and what looked like children with adult faces appeared out of the scrub brush. A baggage pony was with them. They were quickly introduced as the last members of Aragorn's company. Steve quickly memorized them, only telling Merry and Pippin apart by the former's large nose and yellow waistcoat.

"Our route goes east through the pass of Caradhras," Gandalf told them with sparkling blue eyes, "If you are headed that way, you are welcome to join us."

Steve and Bucky quickly exchanged looks. A frown here, a shrug there, a shake of a head.

"To the east are The Lonely Mountain and Dale," Aragorn supplied.

"Is Dale a town?" Bucky asked, "Did we just wander the whole way back to France?" He looked horrified at the mere thought.

"I do not understand. What is this France?" Boromir questioned suspiciously.

"It's a country, bordered by Spain, Germany, the English Channel…" Steve trailed off when he realized that the strangers were just as clueless about the places they named.

For a few moments they all stood there, wondering what was going on.

"Is this at least Earth?" Steve asked wearily, hoping that they had just ended up on Asgard or something, "You might know it as Midgard?"

"I have never heard of Midgard. We are on _Middle_ Earth," Gandalf advised them with a strange amount of gravity.

"Wait, we're in the middle of the earth?" Bucky asked.

Steve elbowed his friend. For once it was handy to have his old knobbly elbows back. "I think we're on a different planet," he stated. Somehow, the thought wasn't as weird as possibly being in the middle of the Earth. Maybe it had to do with having fought aliens before.

"If you'll excuse us, I think that we need to have a good talk," Gandalf said with a smile, and the strangers walked a short distance away. They began to furiously whisper to each other.

Steve took the opportunity to have a conference with Bucky. "I think that if the offer is still open we should go with them," he said plainly, "With me like this, we're sitting ducks if we get attacked and they've got some damn good fighters."

"And they know the area," Bucky pointed out, lips twisting as he added, "Better than we do anyway."

As one, they snorted. Anyone knew this place better than they did.

"And if they don't offer?" Bucky prompted more seriously.

Uncomfortably, Steve shrugged. "We ask directions to the nearest town and book it," he said.

"Book it like bookity-book?" Bucky asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, putting a hand through his hair, "I guess I've assimilated into the 2000's more than I thought." It was vaguely encouraging.

"Now I'm starting to believe you're from the future, punk," Bucky teased.

"You better, jerk," Steve returned with a grin. He felt his heart cracking in two even as pure joy filled it. This was what he had been missing for years, ever since the train. This is what he had been hoping to get back when he started hunting down the Winter Soldier.

The thought stopped him short. The Winter Soldier fell through that portal too… So shouldn't he be here? And even more important, shouldn't he tell Bucky?

Before he could get the words out, he saw that the strangers had concluded their meeting. They approached, Gandalf and the short people the most openly and Boromir the most suspiciously, to stand in front of Steve and Bucky.

"You are welcome to join us, if you wish," the old man told them, "But we will have to swear you to secrecy whether you do or not, and tell you a tale if you do."

It was more than Steve expected. Gratefully, he accepted. "If you're willing to help us out until we reach the next town or find a way home, we'll be as close-mouthed as you want."

"We can talk as we walk," Gandalf said, and spun on his heel.

The rest of the company followed, Bucky and Steve catching up to the old man to listen.

"The tale we have to tell is of the Dark Lord Sauron and the One Ring," Gandalf said in a low rumble.

Steve wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. But wasn't that his life now?

* * *

By the time they stopped for the night, Steve remembered exactly why he hated his body before Project Rebirth. It was lucky that the company, or Fellowship, as they called themselves, walked slowly for the hobbits. Otherwise he never would have lasted.

As it was, he dropped to the ground and rubbed his spine with a groan. The curve of it was more irritating than he remembered, made carrying his shield a pain no matter how light it was.

Beside him, Bucky was more graceful. Then again, this was for him a continuation of an already difficult assignment. "I hate these kind of missions," he mumbled.

"You're just lazy," Steve retorted without any kind of heat.

There was no disagreement from Bucky. Instead he dug in his bag and withdrew something wrapped in cloth. "Here, I've got some smoked pork, if that'll help," he offered Sam with a pained look. Even before the war he had hated sharing his food with anyone except maybe Steve. Sometimes. When they were really hard-pressed for groceries.

Steve smiled a little as he remembered his prior confusion over how all the meat Dum Dum had smoked and shoved in Bucky's bag disappeared within two hours. Answers were coming to questions he forgot he had.

The pork was accepted gratefully. "This is mighty handy," Sam said, "Since we can't have a fire." He looked troubled and a little disappointed at the thought.

"Fire would draw too many eyes," Aragorn advised.

There was no argument from Steve. "That's one thing I don't miss from the war," he commented with a grin. Sometimes he got nostalgic about his time with the army, but shook himself of that quickly when he remembered the cold and the damp and the Colonel.

Immediately Boromir perked up. "What war was this?" he asked interestedly. He had been in the middle of sharpening his sword when the topic came up.

"We call it World War II. It's exactly what it says on the tin: every country on the planet killing each other. Again," Bucky answered with a grimace. He fidgeted with his bag as he got out a blanket then closed it, fingers playing with the clasps and buckles.

"It would have been pretty tame compared to the first one if it weren't for HYDRA, the insanity, and the concentration camps," Steve added. The mere memory of the camp he helped free haunted him to this day, dead eyes and the stench of burned flesh.

"What does a thinking cap have to do with a war?" Gimli asked, obviously mishearing.

Steve tried not to chuckle, but he couldn't help it. He would have preferred that to the reality.

"Besides having to wear one?" Bucky teased. It fell flat.

"Concentration _camp_ ," Steve corrected. "One of the beliefs of the ruling party of the time in Germany, the main country our unit fought, was that certain groups of people were… less, than others. They were imprisoned in camps and systematically worked to death, if not killed outright. Human experiments were done in some." He felt his face going hard as he spoke, the mere explanation of his old enemies bringing back his anger at them.

When Bucky went pale, it was easy to tell why. "HYDRA is a rogue German division that's trying to take over the world using what's basically magic," he continued, still picking at his bag, "Our unit was specifically designed to deal with them." His lips twisted with displeasure as he added, "We've got a little bit of a personal vendetta where they're concerned." He began tearing into the food that Sam passed out, including the smoked pork he had provided.

Steve grinned down at his rations, for once grateful that he didn't have to deal with his enhanced body; normally this would be a snack for the middle of his run. Instead it filled him enough to be comfortable.

Their conversation caught the attention of the entire camp at the word 'magic' with Gandalf smiling grimly. "If you dislike magic, I fear that we will have problems," he huffed as he pulled out a pipe.

"No, no, it's not magic I've got a problem with," Steve hastily assured him, "From what I've seen, magic itself isn't evil. Just some of the people who use it." Loki, for instance. Or that Grindelwald guy that had been on the loose.

"Just like any other weapon," Bucky agreed, clutching his rifle in example.

"Good," Gandalf said with twinkling eyes, "because I am a wizard, one of five." He lit the pipe and began puffing contentedly on it.

It was a little of an adjustment to make in his thoughts about this world. So there was magic here too and not just of the 'alien magic which is usually technology' kind. It wasn't the strangest thing that had happened to him, so Steve shrugged it off.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Has your life really gotten so weird that this ain't even a thing?" he asked, sounding amused and incredulous at once.

"Yes," Steve said bluntly, thinking of the Avengers and Loki and every other day between then and now. Especially Tuesdays for some reason.

"I want to hear all about the future," Bucky said with a grin, and a yawn. "After we sleep. Today was a mess." He pushed his pack into a slightly comfortable configuration before he laid his head down on it and almost immediately began snoozing.

It made Steve smile as he remembered the old adage: the true nature of the soldier is to sleep whenever he can. Wasn't that true? "I think I'd better sleep too," he said, grimacing as he realized he would have to use his own boney arm as a pillow, "Wake us up for our watch?" That would be hell, he never did like waking up.

Aragorn smiled at him across the fire. "Tonight, you are our guests. Tomorrow, you may take a watch," he said understandingly.

"Thanks. Night." Despite that he was uncomfortable and his arm was too boney to use as a proper pillow and he didn't have any kind of blanket, Steve was down for the count. Darkness descended upon him, for once free of nightmares.

* * *

Aragorn watched the newcomers sleep as he smoked his pipe, alone on watch. They had migrated toward each other instinctively, Steve now curling around Bucky protectively with one arm thrown around his waist and forehead pressed to the nape of his neck. It painted an endearing and curious portrait.

If there was one thing he knew at a glance, it was love. Everything about Bucky screamed it, from keeping himself between the Company and Steve at all times, to the tone in his voice when he called Steve "punk." That those feelings were probably unrequited made it painful to watch.

There were a few times when Steve would look over at his friend and Aragorn was sure that he felt something more, but those were few and far in between. The one thing that was for sure was that the small blonde was amazed that the other was actually there. He basked in his friend's attention and affection like he had been deprived for months.

It painted a bizarre picture, between their interactions and the things they said.

Steve barely looked old enough to be conscripted into an army and yet he had already been through a war, led Bucky who looked to be a decade older through it. The only weapon he carried was a shield and his armor was far too big for him. Bucky had mentioned that he was "small again" so that meant that he logically used to fit armor that even Boromir would have trouble with. But how?

Bucky was no less of a mystery. The weapons he carried were strange, long metal rods with holes in the front, firing projectiles that Aragorn had never encountered before. The only blade he carried was a small knife in his boot. What could he have meant by "playing hide and seek" with HYDRA? And what kind of experiments could they have done to him that left him relatively unscathed?

As Bucky whimpered in his sleep, twitching in the throes of a nightmare, Aragorn felt his mood darken. Torture leaves its mark in everyone.

It seemed to be instinct for Steve to comfort his friend, even in his sleep. The hand of the arm he was using for a pillow carded through the dark curls soothingly.

Calmed, Bucky stopped moving and his dreams appeared to be peaceful again.

It was a curious thing that the Fellowship would stumble upon strangers in the middle of nowhere, Aragorn thought as he stared at them then the fire and back again. They appeared to be from another world entirely. The word Midgard that Steve had used was vaguely Rohirric sounding, but none of the others were familiar in the least.

As Gandalf had said, it was a story so crazy that the Dark Lord and his spies would never have dreamed of it. So it must have been the truth.

The thought of other worlds was strange and uncomfortable in how small it made Aragorn feel. That Arda may be one of many places out there… It provoked curiosity and insignificance at once in his heart.

They would find out the truth of the matter as time went on, Aragorn thought with a grim smile. It was time to wake Gimli for his watch.

He would rather have faced a balrog.

* * *

Days went by, and the strangers were welcomed into the Fellowship cautiously. Bucky was quickly taken to kin by the hobbits, while Boromir and Gimli found a strange sort of companionship with Steve as a military man and a short person respectively. It was almost comical to see how protective Legolas grew of the short blonde, believing him to be little more than a babe in arms. Gandalf kept his silence, but the twinkle in his eyes as he looked upon the two said enough.

Aragorn was not sure what he felt, but he found a strange sort of common ground with Boromir through Steve. They were all plain speaking military men at heart and enjoyed learning from each other's battles. According to Steve he was used to leading small groups of seven at the most, where Boromir generally commanded armies. Having done both, Aragorn was in a unique position to see to the heart of both their tactics and operations.

On the third night, right before reaching Caradhras, Boromir finally brought up Steve's shield. "Is it for light skirmishes?" he asked, eyes bright.

The grin Steve gave was mischievous. "It's for any kind of fighting I need it to do," he said, stroking it fondly with his fingertips, "A fraction of the weight of steel and according to Howard it's almost unbreakable." He was justifiably proud as he gazed down at the red and white rings surrounding the star and field of blue. It was a beautiful shield.

"Is it mithril?" Gimli asked in a reverent tone, clearly drawn in by the metalsmithing aspect of the conversation.

"We call it vibranium," Steve corrected. Such a strange name for a metal.

From there the conversation went to mithril and fine weapons, some of them mystical. The stories told were amusing, from how Bucky's 'rifle' and 'pistols' were considered standard-issue (if lightly modified) in his time, to the legendary blades Orcrist and Glamdring and the deeds they had done. It was about the time Gimli mentioned the mithril warhammer that the Dwarves had given Helm Hammerhand that Steve snorted with laughter.

"Sorry, it's just every time someone mentions a warhammer I think of Thor's and not even an vibranium hammer could top Mjolnir," he said, smiling sheepishly at the Dwarf's upset.

At that, Gimli grumbled and gave the blonde the evil eye. "A mithril hammer would certainly whack that shield of yours into shape."

This time it was Bucky who had something to say. "I wouldn't test anything against that shield. I've seen it split steel and cut people in half, no joke," he commented, amused and serious at once.

The thought was intriguing. "May I?" Aragorn requested, wishing to know the weight and balance for himself.

With an easy smile, Steve handed it over. It dwarfed him, covering half his body, yet he was able to pass it with one arm.

When Aragorn gave a few turns, pushes and swings with it, he was surprised. It was just as light as Steve said and there was not a single flaw in its construction that he could find. Hopefully they would not need to test its strength, he thought even as he gave it back. "This was made by a master craftsman," he complimented it.

"And a master asshole," Bucky added dryly.

"Yeah, to both," Steve said with a grin, settling the disc against his legs again, "His son Tony is worse, believe it or not." The tone he spoke with said exactly why he didn't return his friend's feelings.

It seemed that Bucky knew it as well. The pain in his eyes could drive a man to tears. To his credit, he hid it within seconds behind a playfully raised eyebrow and an elbow to the blonde's side. "I didn't know that was possible," he teased.

"Within ten minutes I called him an arrogant, selfish excuse for a human being and told him to get his weapons, and he implied that I was less dangerous than angry bees," Steve replied dryly.

No matter how Aragorn wished he could refute it, he thought that this Tony had a point.

Bucky apparently had other context. "Wait, this was before you shrank again? He's Howard's kid, I thought he'd've been all over the science," he said, taken aback.

"Oh, he went into that too," Steve said with a gracious dip of his head, "Said everything special about me came out of a bottle." He was smiling as he said it, amused, even as he recounted one of the more cruel insults that Aragorn had ever heard. What kind of person was he, to fall in love with someone who gave him that kind of abuse?

"What did you say back?" Bucky asked, clearly exasperated.

"That I knew men worth ten of him and he wouldn't lay down on the wire for the next guy to crawl over," Steve recounted, a flush creeping up his neck, "Well, we were both wrong. By the end of the invasion only Thor and I were still fighting, he flew a nuke through the portal that otherwise would have destroyed Manhattan, and everybody started joking that the Civil War was finally over." He rubbed at the back of his neck with a thin hand, shaking his head as he did.

"Nuke?" It seemed that Bucky had no idea what he was talking about either. That was slightly comforting.

It seemed to startle Steve to remember that he knew things no one else did. "Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting…" he said with a heavy sigh and a tight smile. The wonder at his friend being here grew in his eyes again as he gazed hungrily, as if they would be separated again at any moment.

The explanation that followed, first about the 'nuclear' weapons that were made after Steve 'went into the ice' and then the attempted invasion of a sorcerer named Loki and his army, made Aragorn's head spin. From the expressions on the rest of the Company's faces, they felt similarly. Pippin had even forgotten to eat.

"And that's how the Avengers were formed and we ended up moving into Stark Tower, now Avengers Tower, and became professional superheroes," Steve finished proudly.

The crickets could be heard chirping over the silence in camp. It took a moment for even Gandalf to find words, those being, "We are glad to have such a man among us, then!" with twinkling eyes.

"If only we could have the rest of you with us as well," Legolas said softly, "I would like to see this Hawkeye in action." He fingered his bow, clearly wishing for an archery competition.

"Wait, Black Widow. Did she really get married and kill her husband?" Bucky asked, somewhere between horrified and impressed.

"Does she have a beard?" Gimli asked eagerly.

Everything stopped again after the Dwarf's question. The newcomers, and indeed, most of the Fellowship, stared at him like he had shaved off his own beard. "What? No, no beard," Steve stuttered.

"As beautiful as you describe the lass as being, she'd be even more beautiful with a beard," Gimli advised sagely. His eyes went hazy and undoubtedly visions of bearded Dwarf women danced behind them.

Again there was silence, and Steve blanched at the thought.

"So, moving on, what's the plan for this mountain we're coming up on?" Bucky asked, not noticing Steve flinch beside him.

Aragorn filed it away as Gandalf explained about the High Pass. Something was very wrong here, between the two of them. More than one being from further ahead in time than the other.

He caught Steve's eye and tilted his head slightly in curiosity.

Steve shook his head and began pointedly talking to the hobbits about the Shire.

Aragorn sat back and smoked his pipe and wondered. What kind of secret was Steve keeping, about Bucky, that he couldn't tell the man himself? And what kind of trouble would it generate when it came out?


	2. In Harm's Way

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter Two: In Harm's Way**

" _Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."_

― _Jim Henson_

Eowyn had seen a great many things in her life, but of all of them this was possibly the strangest and most alarming. It was mid-winter and the only freedom that she could get was in riding out in the hills, barely out of sight of Edoras. Her uncle was in decline and brother and cousin harried trying to reign in the ever more encroaching power of Grima Wormtongue. There was no place for her there, she feared.

It was one of the reasons she went on her morning ride. A chance to get away from the need for her to appear strong when some days all she felt like doing was hiding in her bed. Sometimes she even managed to forget why she needed to escape.

This was one of the times that she was slapped in the face with it. After rounding the last hill, one where she often contemplated just riding away and never returning, she came across a battlefield. A score or more of wargs and orcs were dead, all ringing only one man who laid in the middle of the carnage.

It was difficult to see that he was injured, with the black leather that covered his body from neck to feet, but across his torso three long gashes showed where a warg nearly spilled his innards out. Four similar marks across his jaw were most likely from an orc, and his leather covered arm was sliced at the bicep. It was strange how he only wore metal armor on his left arm, Eowyn thought, but it was secondary to noticing that the leather hadn't done its job. There was no sword scabbard or sign of a bow, just a series of strange metal tubes with handles and one longer one without.

Carefully, in case one of the beasts was still alive, Eowyn dismounted and picked her way across the battlefield. Many of the orcs and almost all of the wargs had been killed by a single round hole in the forehead or through the eye, but what could have done that? Perhaps the assortment of metal objects around him were weapons.

It was only when she knelt down beside him that she realized with a shock that he was alive. How that could be she was unsure, when he was so badly injured. But his chest rose and fell shallowly, and she could hear his breathing above the rustle of wind through grass.

There was nothing for it, she had to bring him back to Edoras to get treatment for his injuries. First Eowyn picked up all the strange weapons and packed them in her saddlebags, the long one slung across her back by a long bandoleer attached to it. She made a sling from her cloak and tied it behind Windfola to drag him on, hoping that it wouldn't jar his injuries too badly.

Getting him on it was difficult. He was tall, perhaps as tall as her brother, and heavy with muscle, leaving Eowyn to drag him along the ground.

Tying him in the cloak, she jumped back onto the back of her trusty steed. "Home, Windfola, carefully," Eowyn said, and nudged her horse to get going. They couldn't afford to stay here, more enemies may come.

Still, she went slowly and avoided as many rocks as she possibly could until reaching the gates. "I need someone to carry this man up to Meduseld!" Eowyn called to one of the sentries, "He is badly wounded!"

It may be war, but the Rohirrim did not turn away a person in need of help. The stranger was untangled from the makeshift litter and quickly borne up to the golden hall, Eowyn for once handing the reins of her horse to a groom for him to take care of. No, she had to help this man who had nearly been killed just out of sight of the city.

The room that he was taken to was in the healing wing of course, and when she got there the healers were already fussing and shaking their heads. "He won't live out the night, my Lady," said the head healer gravely, "His wounds are badly infected."

It was a blow, despite that Eowyn knew nothing about the man. "You cannot just quit," she said, hoping against hope.

"There is nothing that we can do except make his passing comfortable," the head healer said with a pitying little smile on his lips.

For reasons that she could not understand, Eowyn was angry. "Fine. I will tend him as best I can, then," she told them, clearly a dismissal.

The healers took it, the last closing the door on his way out.

Left alone with the stranger, Eowyn drew on all she could remember of medicine. This would be the ultimate test of her abilities. Determined that yes, he would last the night, she started water to boiling on the fire and fetched honey and garlic.

When dawn came the next morning, Eomer and Theodred found her asleep at the man's bedside and his breathing remarkably improved. Both out on scouting missions and raiding parties, they had only just found out about it. Stubborn, stubborn Eowyn, they had said to each other fondly, if sadly, when they heard of the prognosis and her will to defy it.

But when they looked in on the room, they were surprised to see the man awake and lucid as he stared around. The moment the door opened his head snapped to them, keen grey eyes watching with wariness that Theodred normally only saw in hunted men.

"Calm, friend," the prince said with a smile as he took a few steps into the room, "We are merely seeing if Eowyn is well. She stayed all night with you." He made sure that his hands were visible at all times and he made no sudden movements, so as not to seem a threat.

That did not calm the man, but he made no counter movements. "Where am I?" he asked in a deep, hoarse voice. His accent was unfamiliar.

"You are in the golden hall of Meduseld, in Edoras," Theodred answered. He had come up behind his cousin and laid a hand on her shoulder, maintaining his distance from the stranger.

The eyes sharpened even more, cutting through Theodred like swords. "How did I get here?" the stranger questioned. He looked like he did not expect an answer.

"Eowyn found you badly injured," Eomer answered from where he stood in the doorway, observing the scene keenly, "Where are the rest of your company, so that we may return you to their care?"

Suddenly, the man looked like a dog who had been kicked one time too many and expected more of the same. "I am alone," he answered roughly. He sounded like he thought he deserved another kick.

Theoden looked from the man to his male cousin and back quickly, reassured when the other man seemed as startled as he. This man was a mighty warrior, indeed! "Welcome to Edoras," Theodred said with a smile, "I am Theodred, crown prince of Rohan. These are my cousins, Eomer and Eowyn." He gestured to each of them.

The man struggled to sit up, flinching slightly. The blankets fell to reveal bandages wrapped around his entire torso as well as his arm. On Eomer's side, a metal arm appeared to be welded into the man's shoulder. How much must that have pained him?

"James," the man replied, after a moment when he seemed to be deciding what to call himself, "My name is James Buchanan Barnes." He peered up at them through thick lashes, still expecting to be kicked.

Theodred smiled instead, and from how James's eyes went wide he did not expect it. He hid the ache that caused in his chest, and instead picked up his cousin like the child he sometimes still thought of her as. "Rest, recover. I will send someone with food for you," he told the man gently.

Eomer held the door open for him, then fell into step beside him. "He is strange," he observed quietly, "A mighty warrior, but like a beast that expects to be punished for the smallest of things." The grimace on his face was not contrived.

"He feels that he had no place to go," Theodred agreed, "Even if he did, I would be against him going back. A man should not be treated as he is used to."

"He is to stay in Edoras, then?" Eomer questioned keenly.

"Yes," Theodred answered instantly, "We need fighters, and I saw the scene of the battle from which Eowyn took him. There are no signs that he was not alone as he says." Knowing that it was only this one man fighting twenty warg riders made him reel every time he thought about it. What was this man?

"King Theoden will not be pleased," Eomer warned.

The reminder was unwelcome. Theodred's father had come under some kind of spell and refused to listen to reason; Saruman had betrayed them and he did nothing. "I will take care of it. Not even he can deny that we need James as much as he needs us," the prince said with a sigh.

* * *

At first going up the mountain wasn't so bad, even without winter gear. The Captain America suit was very warm and his helmet still fit well enough to help trap heat. Bucky laughed at how silly he looked, but stopped after 'falling' halfway down the foothill they were on at that point.

Then Frodo fell down, and the Ring went missing.

Warily Steve looked around for a gleam of gold, half hoping that he wouldn't be the one to find it. He didn't feel like being tested when he felt so weak and vulnerable.

As it was, Boromir was the one to pick it up. Longing was in his voice as he commented at how such a little thing could cause such a big fuss. He looked to be on the verge of putting it on.

Perhaps it was because he was from a different world and no use to the Ring, but instead of feeling a need for it like Gandalf had warned, pain flashed through Steve's head. It was just like when Bucky- the Winter Soldier- punched him in the face over and over, wrapped up into one hit. Panting, he let out a little moan of pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

Some of the discomfort left when he took his eyes off it, but his skin still crawled. Just like it had every time he got too close to Frodo since they met. The Ring didn't want him anywhere near.

"Stevie? You okay?" Bucky's voice was gritty with discomfort.

"Yeah. You?" Steve replied wearily, opening his eyes just in time to see Boromir ruffle Frodo's hair and walk away. Thankfully no one had noticed his moment of weakness, too wrapped up in the real issue.

"Fine and dandy," Bucky said, shaking out his head. His dark eyes were confused and discomfited as he tried to reassure his friend with a smile.

The incident left Steve shaken. Even as they got walking again he kept one eye on Frodo, wondering exactly what had happened. The Ring was supposed to make people want it, but it had actively rebuffed him and Bucky. Whatever was happening here, it was weird and even more unnatural than the Chitauri or robotic octopi he had faced.

Snow got deeper and deeper, a storm raging worse the higher they went until Steve was buried up to his chin, only saved from being frozen alive (again) by Bucky. As always, he thought fondly even as he shivered uncontrollably. He was getting a ride on his friend's back, limbs too stiff to keep walking and unable to get through the snow in the first place with how deep it was.

The hobbits were in similar straits, he noticed with a smile that made his lips crack. Blood oozed, metallic, into his mouth as he watched Boromir and Aragorn carry them all. Gimli rode on the poor pony's back.

"There is a fell voice on the air," Legolas called, just loudly enough to hear.

When Steve strained his ears, he still couldn't hear anything. Maybe it was too quietly for anyone but an Elf to hear.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf roared.

The mountain chose that moment to throw several boulders down at them.

"Gandalf, we must turn back!" Aragorn shouted over the howling wind. Steve couldn't find it in himself to disagree with this idea.

"No!" The wizard tried to calm the storm, chanting what must have been a counter-spell.

As if the words were a signal, an avalanche of snow buried them all. Steve was knocked dizzy by the rush of white, only keeping his bearings by wrapping his arms tighter around Bucky's shoulders. He clawed at the snow that fell on top of them, no matter how good it sounded to just go to sleep…

Steve knew that was one of the warning signs of severe hypothermia. It had been a long time since he had a panic attack, but here on this mountain he found himself on the verge of one. The Serum wasn't working, it wasn't active, so the chances that he would die up here were monumental no matter that he was stubborn.

No, he resolved as he and Bucky broke through the snow to gasp in cold mountain air. Even as an asthma attack took him by storm, he resolved that he wouldn't die up here.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir insisted, "Make for the Gap of Rohan then take the West Road to my city!" That sounded like a great idea, but maybe Steve was just frozen.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn refuted. It took a little too long for Steve to remember that Isengard was the name of the evil wizard's Fortress of Terror or whatever he was calling it these days.

That was when Gimli put in a third option: the Mines of Moria.

The look on Gandalf's face said that was a terrible idea, and Aragorn seemed to agree. It still sounded better than becoming corpses on this mountain. "Let the Ring-bearer decide," the wizard said, almost too softly to hear.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir shouted, fear ladening every syllable, "This will be the death of the hobbits and Steve!"

He wasn't wrong; Steve lost feeling in his feet hours ago. The hobbits that he could see didn't look any better off.

"Frodo?" Gandalf prompted.

Frodo's panicked face calmed. "We go through the mines," he decided.

The grim resolve in Gandalf's face almost made Steve reconsider the mountain. What could be worse than this? "So be it," he said, as if proclaiming a death sentence.

Getting out of the snow was enough for Steve. They could face the mines when they came- after he could feel his limbs again. As if satisfied that their resolve was broken, the storm let up after that. That more than anything was enough to convince Steve that magic was responsible for at least this bit of bad luck.

"Still ain't no thing?" Bucky huffed, dropping him to his own feet once on the foothills.

It was painful to stand, but Steve made himself. If he leaned on his friend for balance, neither said anything. "Not really," he replied truthfully, "You remember Greenland."

They shared a shiver at the mention of the place, though Steve had additional bad memories. When he was in the ice he had awoken several times, to darkness and silence and the inability to move or even breathe. The panic that choked him and cold that flooded his veins he wouldn't wish on anyone. Getting down from this mountain felt like a narrow escape from more of the same.

That night they all stumbled to the edge of a forest, lit a fire and dropped off to sleep as soon as they had something in their still-frozen stomachs. Only Legolas was able to stay awake, and volunteered to cover the first two watches while everyone else got some much-needed sleep. From what Steve understood Elves didn't need sleep as people defined it, just rest and day-dreaming; it was coming in useful.

When Steve was woken, it was morning and they had to get going again. There was a strange heavy feeling on his chest that he had forgotten, but he knew exactly what it was even after years of not having to deal with it: he was sick. "Great," he wheezed when he coughed and could taste infection, "I've got bronchitis again."

That evening Aragorn did his best to treat the infection with foul herbs, but Steve smiled wryly at the attempts. "I never thought I'd have to deal with this again," he said, the words triggering an itch in his throat that made him cough harder. It was nearly impossible to suck in air, leaving him weak and dizzy by the end.

"Did you learn to take care of yourself better?" Aragorn asked, teasing and chiding at once.

"Nah, just couldn't get sick anymore," Steve said. A weak chuckle was almost more than his abused lungs could handle, and he breathed through pursed lips.

Obviously Aragorn thought he was joking or exaggerating, but he let it go. "You will need to be carried," he said, face troubled, "Do you think that you could ride?" He looked to Bill, who was still drooping from the trip up the mountain.

Of course, Bucky would be the one to understand the dilemma and solve it. "Here, I'm still used to this punk being sick all the time. Put my bag on Bill and I can carry him," he volunteered with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "He can't ride a horse for love or money."

And wasn't that the truth? The one time Steve had tried, he overbalanced within five minutes and then realized that he could move faster on his own two feet anyways.

Bucky adjusted the smaller man into his arms with practiced ease before they began walking again, constantly trying to gauge his awareness of the world. At first everything was fine. It became harder to keep a sense of where and when he was over the course of the day. Near sunset he sank into delirium.

* * *

When they stopped for the night, Bucky was worried. It was lucky he had an immune system forged in the fires of Steve's constant sickness or else he would be just as ill. While Aragorn treated his friend with a grim face, he held the man's hand tightly.

"His fever is too high. He may not last the night," Aragorn said softly, sadly, as he lathed Steve's thin chest and chapped lips with a poultice that should ease his breathing.

Not for the first time, Bucky started praying. He had spent their whole lives praying that Steve would make it through one illness after another. Sometimes, in the darkest of nights, he had said to whoever was listening, _I'll gladly go to hell, I'll even skip through the gates when my time comes, if it means being able to love him, but please don't take him from me._

Those prayers had always, somehow, been answered. It was enough for Bucky.

But no matter how he put it, this was possibly the worst situation they had ever been in. Not even that time Steve got shot four times was this bad, because he was a super soldier then and the Commandos had a suspicion that he couldn't die even if he tried. Now he was that same tiny little man Bucky had left in Brooklyn and they were in the middle of nowhere in a medieval world.

"Are all mortals so fragile?" asked Legolas, honest curiosity in his voice as he knelt beside Bucky.

The reminder that they were not alone had him simply keep that thin hand in his, rather than press his lips to the knuckles like he had so many times before. "He's a special case," he answered with a gentle smile.

Steve began shivering even harder, moaned uncomfortably and began muttering under his breath. It was hard to make out what he was saying. If it made sense at all.

Bucky was going to take it as the usual fever-induced ramblings when his friend grasped his hand in a bruising grip. Pale blue eyes met his, unseeing, as he gasped out, "Not the ice, please don't put me in the ice again." The words were startling and curious.

"No ice, Stevie, I promise," Bucky said even as pain erupted in his chest. It may have helped if there was some.

It seemed that his assurances weren't heard; Steve began muttering apologies for not dancing with Peggy and asking Howard Stark questions about how to land a plane or something. It was almost like he was seeing Bucky when he begged, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, you fell and I wanted to jump after you like you did for me and it's all my fault. Please don't leave me again. I'm so sorry."

Smiling hurt. "It's okay, I forgive you," Bucky said soothingly, "You just sleep and get better."

Gallantly Legolas removed his cloak and laid it over the sickly man, tucking in the edges gently.

The extra warmth must have had some effect, because Steve settled down after that.

What was revealed about Bucky's future, and his friend's, was disturbing. From how Frodo asked tentatively, "What did he mean, about the ice?" he was not the only one to think so.

"I don't know. It must have happened after me," Bucky answered frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. It was getting too long even for him, and oily enough to grease a skating rink. If only he could get a damn haircut, or at least a shower.

"Here, it's not much but it's hot," Sam said unexpectedly, offering a bowl of soup.

It was accepted with a quiet mumble of thanks. Some of it, Bucky was able to coax down Steve's throat. That counted as a win in his book.

As he settled in beside his friend, keeping them warm with his body heat (no other reason, of course) Bucky prayed, one last time.

 _Please don't make me live without him._

* * *

In Edoras, Eowyn wondered just what she had gotten into when she brought James here.

It was not that he was a bad guest. He was courteous to everyone he came across and appreciative of everything he was given. If anything he was too helpful, assisting the servants with any task too difficult for them even when he should have been resting.

The problem that Eowyn pondered as she watched him break his fast was his frustration. When she looked in on him that morning, she found him staring uncomprehendingly in down at his torso. The bandages were undone but the stitches still clean and in place, the wounds well scabbed.

"My lord?" she called attention to her presence at the door.

Confusion and horror warred in his eyes. "It should be healed by now," he said quietly.

Eowyn blinked at the wound he was referring to. "Most men would not have lived through such a wound," she stated calmly, "You are only human, James. You need time to heal." It would likely take a great deal of time, she thought, from how close he had been to being disemboweled.

When James shook his head, there was something desperate about the movement. "I've had to hold my intestines inside my body before and that healed overnight," he told her, "This is wrong."

Normally Eowyn was made of sterner stuff, but the vulnerability in his voice broke her heart. The story he had just told chilled her to the bone. "I do not know what to say," she admitted, "We will have to wait and see what happens. You are welcome to wander where you would. It would ease my mind greatly if you stayed near the hall, however." She gave him a rare smile, hoping that it would help to take his mind away from what he thought was slow healing.

The expression was returned with a small nod. "What is there for me to do?" he asked quietly.

There was not much that Eowyn could think of for such a man to do that would not be below him, but James seemed to think nothing of reading old stories or helping to peel potatoes. If anything he looked like he was waiting to be told off, or given some unpleasant order. For every moment that neither happened, he looked more befuddled.

That night, he asked, "Why are you treating me so well?" They had just finished eating dinner and sat on the steps outside of the hall, watching the village and gazing at the stars.

It must have been a sad world that he came from, Eowyn thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye, for him to be so surprised. "You are injured from fighting enemies that would have attacked us. We owe you a great deal," she answered diplomatically.

"I was saving myself," James replied. Almost too low for her to make out, he said, "I was running away."

As the words weren't meant for her to hear, Eowyn let them be. Instead she asked, "What is it like where you come from? So far from Edoras?" She had always wanted to leave the golden hall and wander the far green countries. Hearing stories from someone who had been there would have to suffice, for now.

"My memories are still hazy," James admitted, "but I'll tell you what I can."

Eowyn listened with wonder as he told her of buildings as high as the distant mountains and horseless carriages and glass screens able to show people who are far away. Patiently she listened, never pushing for fear of him going quiet. It wasn't until Wormtongue appeared that he did, stopping in the middle of an explanation of the weapons she had found around him (pistols and a rifle) to stare at the counsellor.

It wasn't the first time that Eowyn wondered how such a clever, inventive man had become lackey to a sorcerer. It wouldn't be the last either. "Yes?" she demanded coldly.

"I overheard your conversation and simply wished to know more about… James," Wormtongue said with a snake-like smile. It made Eowyn's skin crawl.

"It is a shame that you reached us at the end of our discussion," Eowyn said, pushing herself to her feet.

Without a word, James copied her motions. He was more graceful in it, and tall enough that even two steps below Wormtongue he was able to look the worm in the eye. The look in his eyes was analytical as he watched the situation play out.

The counsellor noticed, and smiled. It was not a nice smile. "A pity. Perhaps we can speak more on the morrow. For now, it is late, my lady, and people may wonder what you are doing at such a time with a… foreigner." Wormtongue's usage of the word was akin to an insult.

Unlike most men, James did not take offense with his tone. He did not have any reaction.

"That is not your concern, privy counsellor," Eowyn said, pulling rank. To James she said more sharply than intended, "Come, the healers must change your bandages."

Again there was no protest. James simply followed her as she swept past Wormtongue and into the hall. When he kept himself between her and the snivelling excuse for a man, she was grateful.

Darkness closed in around Eowyn until she felt ready to choke on it. Only James's metal arm reflecting the occasional torchlight kept her from running to sit beside the bright fire in her rooms. It was a relief to get there anyway, and more so to close the door behind them.

"That man… Who was he?" The look on James's face told her that he had asked that question before and the answer was harsh.

"His name is Grima, but we call him Wormtongue now. He is the King's privy counsellor but also an agent of the enemy, whispering poison into my uncle's ears to make him more malleable to the White Wizard," Eowyn said, collapsing onto her bed. It felt like all the energy had been bled out of her by that one encounter.

The words were strange to James. There was very little change in his expression, but the slight narrowing of his eyes said enough. "Why hasn't anybody got rid of him yet?" he asked. There was an innocence to the question that Eowyn hadn't expected.

She couldn't help smiling tiredly. "We have tried, but the King refuses to send him away," she answered softly. Oh, how many times she and Eomer and Theodred had tried since Grima became a turncoat. And her uncle had ignored all of them, falling deeper under the spells of words and magic.

"I am very good at... making bodies of people." The way James offered was rehearsed like he thought it was only a formality.

"No, you would be suspected. You are a stranger. Only I and my cousin have any kind of trust in you," Eowyn denied, no matter how she wished to take him up on it. "I will save that as a last resort," she added mischievously.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as Eowyn stared into the fire and James at the floor. The way he stood was as if he were guarding the door from unwanted interlopers, protecting her. Safety was a rare feeling right now.

"You should get to the healer's rooms," Eowyn suggested. Though she hated it, Wormtongue was right when he said that people would talk. Right now her position could not afford that.

Taking that as an order, James spun neatly on his heel and reached for the door handle.

"Thank you for talking with me today. I hope to perhaps see your New York one day," Eowyn said longingly. It sounded like a fairy tale land.

"So do I, again," James said with the beginnings of a smile on his face as he left. Despite the heavy boots and multiple belts and accessories he wore, he was silent.

Once alone, Eowyn laid back on her bed with a huff. Her brother and cousin were sorting out the orcs and wild men roaming Rohan and her uncle was falling ever deeper under Saruman's spell. Only she was left of the House of Eorl both in Edoras and of her own mind.

Wormtongue was ever behind her when she looked over her shoulder now. There was nowhere within Edoras except maybe her own rooms that she could be rid of him. Though, she realized when she looked back at today's interactions with the loathsome man, he (rightly) was wary of James.

Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.


	3. Cthulu Awakens

Sorry this was late. Moving house is hard, especially when moving together with someone else.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Cthulu Awakens**

 _"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."_

 _― Charles Bukowski_

When Steve came to again, he was wrapped in slender but strong arms like a baby. "What the… Legolas? Why are you carrying me?" he asked when he recognized the man.

The smile he was given could put the sun to shame. "Aragorn was unsure that you would live. As I am immune to your mortal diseases, it was decided that I would bear you while we traveled," he explained joyously.

At once Bucky was beside them, eyes shining silver in the daylight. "I think you like driving me to an early grave, punk," he teased.

The wording made something freeze in Steve's chest. He forced a smile anyway. "Yeah, well even your ugly mug would improve the afterlife," he replied dryly.

The moment the rest of the Fellowship realized that he had woken, they all stopped by common consensus, just for a little while. Sam insisted on getting some food into him, and the rest simply smiled and told him how glad they were that he was alright. Even Gimli put in a gruff, "Don't do that again, laddie."

The hobbits were his favorites, and he asked them for stories to pass the time while they walked.

Well, everyone else walked and Legolas still carried him. That one was a little weird.

The stories that the hobbits told were innocent and full of fun, mostly about Merry and Pippin's more mischievous exploits. When it came to them running from Farmer Maggot after literally running into Frodo and Sam, Steve laughed so hard he had an asthma attack. "And they call me a troublemaker," he wheezed, still smiling, once his breathing settled.

"You are one. When I left, you were planning to attack a fucking convoy by yourself," Bucky snorted, unimpressed.

It took a moment for Steve to remember that particular incident, even as he was given disbelieving looks from the Fellowship. There were too many such incidents to count. When he struck upon the right memory, he shrugged. "You remember how low our supplies were running. We were getting desperate and everybody else was out of ammo," he explained unapologetically.

Boromir stated dryly, "You must be joking. You can barely carry your shield!"

At that, Bucky snickered. "When that happened he didn't look anything like this. About ye tall," the latter measured out Captain America's height, a few inches taller than him, "and big enough to fill out that armor." He banged a fist gently against the mentioned kevlar, now long enough to cover his bum and loose enough for two of him to fit.

"I will not ask how it is possible, for I doubt that I will understand the explanation," Boromir said, a look of disbelief and wonder on his face as he looked at the small body being carried by Legolas, "but I would like to ask if it is possible for you to return to your other form? It may prove useful."

Though his friend was looking at it from a tactical perspective, the request still made something in Steve's chest pang. "If I could've, I would've," he said bitterly.

"I apologize for the implication of my words. There is nothing wrong with you being small. You would simply have a less hard time in the wilds otherwise," Boromir said, before dropping back to walk in front of Aragorn. The shame on his face was tempered by his knowledge that he was right.

And Steve hated that.

It was proved that night when they were attacked by wolves. Steve was forced to stay near the fire with the hobbits, at one point defending them with his shield from a wolf that got past the ring of defenders but didn't get the chance to attack. Aragorn lobbed off its head in one.

Otherwise, it proved to be a good example of the warriors' preferred weapons and styles. Legolas was the best distance fighter, Gimli depended on strength, Boromir was a brick wall and Aragorn proved himself extremely adaptable. Gandalf dual wielded his staff and a sword, but at the end of the battle when he turned the campfire into an inferno that scared away the wolves, Steve finally acknowledged that yes he was a bona fide wizard.

"I have never seen anything like that," Steve admitted, amazed at how easily Gandalf contained the wild blaze. Soon enough it was a simple, cheerfully flickering campfire again.

"It is good to know that we can shock and awe as well as Bucky can!" Gandalf said with a smile that quickly dropped. "We shall stay here for the night." His grave voice cut through the adrenaline-fueled laughter.

Watches were assigned, three people awake at a time rather than two, and Steve had the first with Gandalf and Legolas. Those were two that he didn't have much to do with usually, he realized with growing chagrin. From what he'd heard in Aragorn's stories, Elves could live thousands of years. What kind of things had Legolas seen, he wondered? And Gandalf was old even to Legolas, it was easy to see from how he deferred to the wizard. Were all wizards so long lived? And was this the extent of his powers?

"You have many questions," Gandalf said, taking out his pipe again.

It was all the encouragement Steve needed to begin peppering both the wizard and the Elf with them, smiling with each new answer that defied his expectations. That Legolas was over a thousand years old and a prince made his jaw drop slightly. It only inspired more questions, which rapidly spilled out. This was better than television, no matter what Tony or Clint said.

When he curled into Bucky that night, it was with a smile that not even his phlegmy coughing could vanquish. Sure he was tiny and weak and sickly again, but the one thing that hadn't changed was that even the smallest person could make a difference. That was what Frodo was trying to do. And that's what he could do, even just as a battlefield advisor.

It shouldn't have felt this good to have strong arms automatically pull him into a broad chest. He decided that right now it didn't matter and it probably never would. Bucky didn't feel the same way about him, now or in the future, and his feelings for Tony weren't so lightly put aside either.

Ignoring the little voice that told him this was a bad idea and his heart would get broken all over again, Steve laid his head over the spot that he could best feel Bucky's heart and spread himself out half way on top of the bigger man. An arm wrapped around him, large hand pressed against the small of his back. It was almost enough to make him feel secure in this crazy world.

He missed the two pairs of twinkling blue eyes that saw everything.

* * *

It was a little suspicious that nothing happened the whole way to what Gimli called the Walls of Moria. In the war Bucky was used to, enemies would use everything they had to cause trouble. A wizard able to bring an avalanche down on them was content to leave them alone now? Inconceivable.

Walking beside him now, Steve seemed to think the same thing. "This place must be more dangerous than even Gandalf is saying," he commented in a low voice.

That Gimli seemed so excited was just as worrying, in a different way. It had been thirty years since this place was heard from, so shouldn't it be obvious that something bad happened?

Legolas seemed unconcerned. Apparently in societies without cars or phones, it wasn't uncommon to not hear from family for years. To Bucky, the mere concept of not having a reliable postal system (arrival in a week, guaranteed) was unfathomable. It was no wonder that people didn't move that far from home.

The cliffs felt like they closed in on the travelers, aqueducts like he had seen in Italy broken and mournful in the mist. Even the water seemed solemn, silent as it trickled past in places where he could tell there used to be a river. Everything about the place screamed of sadness and loneliness.

The whole company felt it, from Pippin's uncharacteristic quiet to the reflective quality of Aragorn's comments. Only Gimli seemed unaffected, growing more ecstatic and awed the further into the canyon they got.

Fear permeated Gandalf's entire being. That was alarming in itself to Bucky. If a wizard was afraid of this place, why weren't they turning the hell around?

A slight problem faced them when Legolas said, "I do not see an entrance to these mines ahead, only a vast dark lake."

He was right, and Bucky wondered if there was some stupid trick to reveal the entrance. Would it glow red when visitors got there? Or was it like some of the HYDRA facilities and the doors would open on their own?

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli advised. He tapped his axe against the cliff to listen for an echo that would indicate a hidden room, moving on when he heard nothing.

"Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secret is forgotten!" Gandalf agreed from the front.

It was yet another demonstration of why an Elf and a Dwarf should not be kept in the middle of nowhere together when Legolas muttered under his breath, "Why doesn't that surprise me?" as he passed by.

When Gimli simply grumbled and gave the Elf the evil eye, Bucky was pleasantly surprised. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

It was no surprise when Steve yelped, having tripped and slid a leg into the lake. Really it was lucky he still wore his Captain America gear, Bucky thought fondly as he fished his friend out of the water, at least it was water resistant. They didn't need him getting sicker when he was just getting back to his usual 'not going to die this hour' state.

Privately, Bucky admitted he was troubled by whatever had happened to made the Serum go into remission. Whatever it was, he had quietly come to the conclusion that it was affecting him too.

He wasn't a super soldier like Steve, but ever since he was rescued from that damn table there had been something off and different inside of him. Everything was a little clearer, a little sharper, a little lighter and a little slower than before. At first it had thrown him, made him feel like a different person, but in the past months he had figured out how to work with it. Being back to the same Bucky that had been captured at Azzano wasn't as happy of a circumstance as he expected.

Just what was that portal?

"I think we might have found the entrance," Steve said, interrupting his friend's thoughts. He trotted forward and ran a hand over one of the two trees that were planted along the cliffside- the only two they had seen since they entered the canyon.

Gandalf gave him a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder as he passed to run a hand over the cliff face. He said a word that must have been foreign, before muttering, "Reflects only starlight… and moonlight." He turned around to face the sky, looking for either.

It must have been some sorcery that made the clouds clear right then. "Nice, uh, magic trick," Bucky commented, before his eyes went painfully wide at what the moonlight uncovered.

Markings on the wall in the shape of an ornamental doorway and runes glowed silver, gaining power the longer the moon shone. It reminded Bucky of a battery being charged.

"It reads, 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter'," Gandalf read off.

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked, frowning at the vagueness.

"Oh, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open," Gandalf explained cheerfully. Now that they found the doors, the entire group's mood seemed better.

That diminished slightly when the complicated words Gandalf said in a demanding tone didn't work.

"I don't suppose 'open sesame' will work?" Bucky asked dryly.

Nothing happened after a second attempt in a different, choppier language.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin observed.

Sarcastic as ever, Steve added, "Maybe if we wish really, really hard…" He scowled when Bucky cuffed him upside the head playfully.

Gandalf grumbled about once knowing every spell that Men, Elves and orcs had ever come up with.

Orcs had spells? From the look on Legolas's face, the concept was as horrible as it seemed.

"What are you going to do then?" Pippin was a hobbit after Bucky's own heart, nice and practical.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf said sternly, with more frustration than Bucky had seen from him so far.

"Somebody needs to get laid," Bucky huffed, almost amused, as he took the opportunity to sit down. With the Howling Commandos he had learned the value of resting wherever and whenever he could, even if he didn't feel tired.

Merry nodded in response from where he sat beside his cousin. "He does need a nap," he agreed sagely, misunderstanding the phrase.

When Steve started coughing so hard he almost threw up, only Bucky realized that it was because he was trying to hide his laughter. Thank God no one else seemed to see it, that would have been awkward.

While most of the Company took the opportunity to rest, Aragorn unburned the pony and sent it on its way. Sam looked heartbroken as he watched. They each did their part in getting ready to go into the death trap that Gimli called Moria. The baggage was divided, with Bucky and Legolas splitting most of the stuff that Steve normally would have carried. No matter how he glared and insisted that he could do his part, they ignored him. Legolas was a little kinder about it, using Steve's newest near-death experience as justification rather than his inherent frailty. Everyone else prepared their equipment and adjusted bags, not counting Gandalf who was still trying to remember the password.

Truthfully, there was nothing that Bucky wanted more than to get out of here. Alarms were ringing in his head. Either Gandalf would remember the password soon or Bucky was taking Steve and getting the hell out of dodge.

"Speak _friend_ and enter," Frodo said unexpectedly, new understanding in his tone. Before Bucky could ask if he was thinking the same thing, he asked, "What's the elvish word for friend?" He was.

"Mellon," Gandalf answered in the tone of one suddenly struck by their own stupidity.

The doors opened outward by themselves and Gimli began guffawing with glee.

Normally Bucky would have joined him, but the stench that blasted out from the entrance made him freeze. Images of a mission past flashed before his eyes, leaving him to tremble as he remembered the corpses and gas chambers and stench of burning flesh as people more dead than alive shambled aimlessly, staring with sunken eyes- He didn't realize he was trembling until Merry's steady hand landed on his arm.

"What's the matter, Bucky?" he asked with concern.

Bucky took a shuddering breath and gagged as the stink of decay washed through his lungs again. "Don't you smell that?" he asked. Automatically a hand came up so that he could block the foul air with a sleeve.

"What do you smell?" Steve asked, dead serious. For a moment it didn't make any sense; wasn't he the one with the superior senses? It took a moment for Bucky's shaken mind to remember that he was tiny with sinusitis again.

No matter what he had said to these complete strangers, Bucky refused to set foot in there. "Steve, we need to go," he whispered.

Not even a second later, Gimli let out a wail and Boromir shouted for them all to get out. Now there was some advice worth listening to.

Right as Bucky was about to grab Steve and skedaddle, he felt something slimy wrap around his ankle. Before he could even shout he was hanging upside down, a giant tentacle holding him over the water. His first stupefied thought before he began to struggle was that Cthulhu was fucking real. His second was that he needed to get out of this mess and back to Steve right now, because no matter what was in there, was it really worse than being fish food?

Taking advantage of his training and physicality, Bucky sat up and grabbed the knife out of his boot. It was small but it would have to work, even with the others coming to the rescue. He wasn't some damsel.

Even as he hacked at the tentacle holding him up he got a nasty surprise at hearing Frodo shriek for help. Great, now the entire quest was in jeopardy.

One last cut was enough to get himself free. At first there was a feeling of triumph as he fell. Ha, take that! Then he realized that he was at least thirty feet above the water. Shit.

As he was preparing himself to be in a world of hurt, no matter how high his pain tolerance had gotten since Azzano, he was abruptly caught in strong arms. Blonde hair had him confused for a moment, wondering when Steve got big again. He was slapped by long hair and realized that it was Legolas.

"Into the Mines!" Gandalf had the right idea.

Within seconds Legolas rocketed them inside, grabbing Steve when it became clear that the entrance was collapsing. Rock tumbled down behind them and now everything was stirred up in the air. Bucky couldn't stop coughing as dust got into his lungs and panicked as he realized that Steve probably wasn't able to breathe at all.

It felt like forever before the rocks settled. They all waited in the dark, barely daring to twitch for fear of setting it off again.

At last there was light, from a crystal now in Gandalf's staff. Where did that come from? "We must now face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard," he warned grimly, "There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

They got walking, Bucky mystified when he kept up without moving his legs. Wait a minute… "Hey, uh, Legolas? As nice as this is, can you put me down?"

* * *

Eowyn grinned with satisfaction as she watched her charge from the steps of Meduseld. So much for not living through the night.

Instead James was regaining his strength and agility quicker than anyone expected despite his own frustration. Instead of being bedridden he darted around, barely keeping out of reach of the children he played with. The laughter of little ones was something no one had heard in a long while.

It almost erased from Eowyn's mind the startled incredulity that she saw on James's face when she suggested it. "What if I hurt them?" he had whispered, terror in every syllable.

"You won't, as long as you're careful," Eowyn had told him.

Now she felt vindicated all over again. Sometimes all one needed was faith in the right person.

That was what had her mind in tangles as she thought about the proposition that she had put forth to her brother and cousin. With Grima constantly watching and waiting, she was wary of being alone, and in their minds she was handicapped for being female. What she had brought up solved both problems at once and gave them a reason to keep James near.

Keep him out of the hands of those who made him like this.

Families called their children in for dinner and they said goodbye to each other reluctantly. James froze when one particularly audacious girl hugged him. He recovered enough to gently pat the top of her head before she skipped off.

As he came up the stairs, more content yet puzzled than Eowyn had yet seen him, she felt she was doing the right thing. Here he could build a life, and eventually a family. "Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked expectantly.

The nod she received was more natural, less precise and measured, than she had seen of him so far. He was making progress.

"Ride with me?" Eowyn requested.

Again, she received a nod. It was likely that he had always been a man of few words.

Quickly they tacked up two horses, Windfola and a grand old bay mare named Dagny, and trotted out the gates. This time they stayed within sight of the town, as most of Edoras was still coming to terms with the stranger in their midst.

Out of earshot but still in sight, James asked, "What did you want to talk about?" Very clever.

Eowyn decided to say it plainly. "If you are amenable, I would have you as my bodyguard," she told him, making sure to phrase it as a request. She wanted him to decide, not to react like it was an order.

"Why?" James asked, brow furrowing slightly with thought.

"Wormtongue, mostly," Eowyn admitted with distaste, "but also because times have gotten dangerous. You've battled the orcs and wargs that roam. You've seen that my uncle is in decline and my cousin and brother are always out trying to protect our borders. They think I cannot defend myself because I am a woman."

Here, James snorted before he controlled himself again.

Eowyn pretended to have not noticed, other than a faint smile. "You would be more my companion than my bodyguard, I suppose, with the caveat that you scare Wormtongue and his lackeys out of their wits when they come near," she finished.

For a moment they roamed in silence, unhurriedly riding around Edoras. The mountains were beautiful at this time of year.

"Possibilities are coming at me every which way," James commented off-handedly, "Your brother offered for me to join his division and your cousin said that should I find a lover then he would be able to arrange a place in something he called the Sacred Twenty Eight. What is that?" His innocence about the world was damnable right now.

"It is one of the finest units that we have, second only to the King's guard," Eowyn told him, while cursing Theodred for assuming, "It is made up of twenty eight sets of lovers, both of the male persuasion." She wondered what he would make of this. Many foreigners had taboos against men loving each other.

If anything, James looked pleasantly surprised. "It's legal here?" he asked.

"Very much so. The Sacred Twenty Eight was based on the idea that a man would fight harder to protect his lover than simply himself or his friends. It has worked very well over the two hundred years since their formation," Eowyn said knowledgeably. Their victories over the Wild Men and orc riders were some of her favorites to read about as a girl.

"I can't accept your cousin's offer. The only one I plan to ever take as a lover isn't here," James said quietly. Pain was in his voice.

Eowyn set a hand on his shoulder in a show of support. It must have happened when he got separated from his tormentors. She made a mental note to ask her cousin about any slave traders he or Eomer had run across lately, just in case.

"Thanks, Eowyn. I'll take you up on your offer," James said, breaking her from her thoughts, "I wasn't trained for the open field. I'd be a burden in Eomer's company." He almost smiled as he said it.

No matter that she disagreed with him (those twenty warg riders were still fresh in her mind) Eowyn smiled victoriously. Wormtongue had extra incentive to stay away, she had a companion, and James had a place here now. It was the best thing to happen in a long time.

Now if only good things could keep coming.


	4. Why Is It Always Caves?

A super big thank you to my first reviewer on this story, **J-chan and Co**! You made my day.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Why Is It Always Caves?**

" _A day without sunshine is like, you know, night."_

― _Steve Martin_

There wasn't much Tony hated more than caves. Portals were running a close second. Nothing good ever happened when he encountered either.

That included the events of the last few hours. One minute he was doing a fly-by of the city, half hoping to catch sight of this spider kid on SHIELD's radar, and the next he was desperately braking so that he didn't crash into a stone wall. The sudden change was confusing, terrifying, so he looked around to see where the hell he had ended up.

If he were honest, this was much more than a big damn cave. Whoever designed it was a genius with stone, turning even the most basic features into works of art. It must have been something to see in its heyday.

Now it was abandoned and back to being a cave, as far as he was concerned. A huge fucking cave where the only light available was from his suit- which was at critical power levels. That portal must have sucked out a lot of juice, it was at full when he left the tower twenty minutes ago.

Reluctantly Tony got to the nearest walkway and had the suit fold up into briefcase form. Back in his jeans, the dark was too much. It pressed in around him like the darkness of space had, only with moldy stagnant air rather than none at all. It wasn't enough to keep his panic at bay.

Without thought he flew out of his shirts, allowing his arc reactor to light the way. Thank everything that it was still working.

There didn't seem to be anyone around, so he picked a direction and started walking. Hopefully he would find a way out soon. Or maybe a person who could point the way.

Instead he heard inhuman screeches and hid behind a pillar, clutching his shirts and the suit to his chest to hide the glow he had been navigating by. That didn't sound friendly. Better to find out what was going on than get strung up.

The creatures that scrambled past wouldn't have looked out of place in World of Warcraft. They were shorter than him and green skinned with huge eyes and lank sections of hair, like the rest had fallen out. Plate armor that he could barely keep from scoffing at the shoddy construction of covered all their soft squishy bits while even worse swords and other bladed weapons were clutched in spindly hands.

The moment they were out of sight, Tony let out a low chuckle. Well shit, if he could get out of here and the rest of the world was medieval too, he had just the skills to barter for information and supplies. Now just to get out of here.

That was a few hours ago. He had run across more unfriendly looking things that he dubbed orcs (after the video game monsters), always managing to hide from them, but no sign of a way out. And he was getting thirsty, dammit.

That was, until he saw a soft white glow from around a corner. It was a trap, another portal, or a friendly (please let one of the last two be the case). If this place worked like he thought, it was probably a good guy.

Just in case, he waited where he was and prepared to run if he was wrong. This shit was trickier than WoW made it look.

When an old man wearing all grey came around the corner, the light coming from his staff, Tony could have wept with joy. As it was, he let out a giddy laugh. "Hey Dumbledore, you don't happen to know the way out of here, do you?" he asked, relieved.

"We are trying to find it, as well," the man answered, a look of tired befuddlement on his face.

Before anything more could be said, a blessedly familiar voice called his name. "Tony? Is that you?" Somehow, this moment had become even more perfect.

"God bless America," Tony said, face cracking into a wide grin. He was never again making fun of Steve's habit of getting into trouble and then being the big damn hero.

"Don't say that just yet," Steve said dryly, with a bitter laugh that was shortly cut off in favor of a hacking cough. What the hell?

The mystery was solved when a short blonde shoved his way to the front of the group. It took a moment for Tony to realize that it was Steve, all tiny and pale in the white light. It was only the Captain America costume and shield on his back that fully convinced him.

"And you poke fun at me for being short," Tony said, mind struggling to catch up with his eyes. This couldn't be happening.

"Shove it, Tony." Yep, it was Steve. No one else ever said that so casually, almost an endearment.

"We need to keep moving," a dark haired man said in a calming almost British accent.

"Right, Tony, this is the Fellowship. Gandalf," Steve indicated the old man, "Aragorn," the dark haired one, and went on to introduce the rest of the company in a spiel that was most definitely something out of an RPG. There was even an elf and a dwarf, okay?!

"I'm from 2015, and this is the 1944 version of Bucky-" Steve was cut off by Tony picking a repulsor glove off the briefcase and pointing it at the face of the fucking murderer in their midst.

Barnes raised his hands rather than fought. "Whoa there," he said, startled, as he watched the palm light up the smallest bit.

"Tony, stop," Steve ordered. Fearlessly he grabbed the gauntlet and pushed, trying to get him to lower it.

"Always defending him even when he deserves to rot, aren't you?" Tony asked bitterly. And for the record, no, he wasn't jealous. Not at all.

Steve glared up at him, pale blue eyes just as determined as when he glared down. "You can't punish him for something he hasn't done yet. 1944, remember?" he insisted.

As much as he hated to admit it, Steve was right. Rather than blast a hole in Barnes's forehead like he wanted, Tony let the charge die down. When he replaced it on the briefcase with a click, the air got a lot less tense. "Tony Stark, from 2014," he introduced himself roughly, deftly avoiding the elephant in the room, "Which way is out?"

That elephant stayed in the room while they walked, Tony advising Gandalf on what he had seen in the past few hours. Holy hell, he was right: those things were called orcs. And the old man was a wizard.

It was a little irritating how they assumed that he was a hostile, no matter that he had just tried to kill Barnes. He was the only one Tony was dangerous to and he proved that, right after he put his shirts back on. It was fucking freezing in there.

Instead he stuck by the dwarf, Gimli, who was a fucking riot. Within the hour they got into a conversation on metalworking that lasted until they all decided to camp for the night. If one could actually call it camping. It was basically laying on the floor around a giant hole that used to be a well and praying they didn't fall in when they stumbled to the corner designated as the little boys room.

It wasn't long before Tony had to admit to himself that he was an ass. This Barnes was actually himself and not a brainwashed nutter. He wasn't responsible for the things the Winter Soldier had done, yet.

Tony set down the suit in a corner and plopped himself down beside Bucky. Ignoring how the man tensed, he complained idly, "This whole coming from different times thing is ridiculous."

When it looked like he wouldn't be murdered, Bucky let out a short bark of laughter. "No kidding. Last I saw Stevie, he was huge and about to attack a convoy," he reminisced fondly. If his eyes darted to where the man was finishing a conversation with Boromir, he couldn't be blamed.

"Last I saw him he was still a mountain," Tony agreed, lips pursed, "He was in the hospital." And he hadn't woken up yet.

The look Bucky gave him was fond and exasperated and shocked all at once. "What kind of stupid thing did he do to make that possible? He got shot four times once and didn't even need to be hospitalized then," he said, frowning.

"You really don't want to know," Tony told him, eyes following the topic of their conversation as he spoke with Gandalf, "Either way it got him shot, stabbed, beaten unconscious, and nearly drowned." Too bad that telling Bucky he did it would wreck the timeline. He deserved the guilt.

"Big old Steve got punched out," Bucky repeated in disbelief.

"Yep," Tony agreed. He wrapped his arms around his knees in a bid to stay warm.

"There must be some dangerous people in your time," Bucky said thoughtfully.

This time it was Tony who let out a laugh. "Two of the most dangerous are in this room," he said with a tight smile. Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

"Are you telling tall tales again Tony?" Steve asked, an eyebrow raised. God it was good to see him, even if he was tiny and a year ahead.

Tony winked at the mini-Cap and patted the piece of floor beside him. "You know me better than that," he teased.

"Whatever he tells you, take it with a grain of salt," Steve advised dryly, sitting down. It was so weird for him to be the small one. It made him ridiculously cute though.

"Hey, I was telling the absolute truth this time," Tony protested with a shit-eating grin, "Somebody really did think you were trying to commit suicide while you were cheating at hide and seek." Cheerfully he told Bucky, resisting the small hands that tried to cover his mouth, "He hung from the supports under the balcony when he wasn't supposed to go outside!"

Embarrassed, Steve retorted, "And you used JARVIS's cameras to avoid everybody. Hark who's talking." He let out a cough and had to abruptly stop wrestling Tony down, body spasming as his lungs tried to clear.

"Easy there Capsicle, don't die on us," Tony said, patting the man's back awkwardly. He had never really been around anyone sick before. Usually he was the one coughing and sneezing and bitching while Steve and Bruce took care of him.

On the other hand, Bucky seemed to know exactly what to do. He got up and slid behind Steve, rubbing his thin back and shoulders soothingly. "Calm down punk, we were just talking," he said with a fond roll of his eyes.

Steve's breathing evened out and he huffed. "You talking _is_ cause for worry," he commented.

If only to cement what the mini-Cap said, Tony grinned slyly. "So what kind of embarrassing stories do you have about Cappie here? I bet there's a lot," he said.

Steve groaned and put his face in his hands.

Taking pity, Bucky shook his head. "You'll have to earn those, old man," he teased.

Before Tony could protest that he was _not_ old and was in fact a great specimen of youthful vigor, Aragorn interrupted to assign the watches. "Tonight, you are our guest," he said to Tony with a kind smile but guarded eyes. Wise man.

"No problems here," he returned. He'd never admit it, but he was grateful. That portal really did a number on him. And they were stuck in this damn cave for another day.

When he slept, he had nightmares of motherships and car batteries and Steve laying lifelessly in a hospital bed.

* * *

During his watch, Aragorn stared at the new arrival and frowned. It was unexpected to come across the very same man that Steve was in love with, and even less expected that he would immediately threaten Bucky. How could they both be friends with the Steve if they hated each other?

 _Time gap._

One was from seventy years after the other. If it weren't for the violent reaction that Tony displayed, Aragorn would think that Bucky had died by the time that this man came from. It would explain the way Steve looked at him.

Nothing fit with these people, he mused darkly. Not even they seemed to be able to make sense of it. What could have brought them here, and for what purpose?

Then there was the issue of the metal in Tony's chest… Whatever it was glowed brightly enough to light his way even here in Moria and whirred like a whetstone turning in a smithy. Aragorn knew well what men could and could not survive, and they most definitely could not live through having metal melted into their very chest! Yet the scars he saw indicated that the machinery had been there for several years.

Aragorn couldn't help grinning when he saw the object of his thoughts wind his legs around Steve's even as he got tangled in Gimli's cloak. If nothing else, life was never boring with these strange men in their midst.

* * *

Steve was sure that somebody up there had it out for him. There was no other explanation for the twin delight and horror that is Bucky and Tony both being here, and now getting along. The stories alone were enough to make him blush the whole way down his neck, between their playboy days and the years of knowing him.

Stories of the Avengers having fun and it going spectacularly wrong (his shield accidentally getting thrown into the ocean, trees getting fried, sea monsters rising, etc.) were numerous and several had to be cut short because they made most of the Fellowship come too close to giving away their position with laughter. Those were the good times, even with the climbing and oppressive silence.

That being said, it took an insane amount of effort to not lick the back of Tony's neck every time he had to be carried up a steep flight of stairs. It always looked so… appetizing. He constantly fought with the urge to tilt Tony's head forward for easier access and lean in to nibble and suck at the soft skin there.

Hello, uninvited erection. Steve flushed and was grateful to be let down onto his own two feet at that point. The dark was, for once, welcome.

From there it was another long, winding walk. Were the paths getting wider, or was it just him?

"We are near the main city," Gandalf announced with relief.

"Oh, thank gods," Tony said. His usage of the plural was amusing, considering that he was an atheist.

When they actually got there, Gandalf lit up his staff brighter and Steve was struck by the beauty of it. If only he had some time and drawing materials… But why did such short people need such high ceilings?

Before he could ask, Gimli gave a shout and ran through a side doorway. A shaft of sunlight bounced off a stone block within, the first natural light Steve had seen in days. He couldn't help basking in it for the brief seconds it took everyone to gather.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf read the runes carved into the top of the block- the sarcophagus. "It is as I feared." He gazed around at the multitude of skeletons and picked up a book one of them clutched.

Steve stayed well away from touching anything. Instead he stood beside Gimli, who had begun sobbing against the sarcophagus. "I'm sorry, Gimli," he said, staring down at the stone. He took the opportunity to give a moment of silence for the dead dwarf- and Commandos he'd never really mourned.

"We cannot linger," he heard Legolas hiss.

"Give the man- I mean, give the Dwarf a few minutes," Tony told him sharply, "As far as he's concerned, he just lost his cousin." No matter that Legolas was right, Steve also agreed with Tony. Not much is worse than being unable to grieve.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall," Gandalf read ominously, "We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long."

Something about the words made Steve feel like he got dunked in cold water. When he glanced over at them, Bucky and Tony looked wary.

"Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark," Gandalf continued, frowning at the fragile pages he held, "We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They are coming." He looked up from the book with horror in his eyes.

"Then let's get ourselves out before something-" Bucky was interrupted by a crash, and he closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Happens."

They all turned to face the source of the crash, and found Pippin guiltily jumping away from a skeleton that surely had a head before. Even as they watched in horrified fascination, the rest of the skeleton fell and the bucket it was chained to along with it. Why was it cuffed to a bucket in the first place?

Every single crash made Steve flinch. There went several days of quiet, up in flames.

Or maybe not. There was no reaction from the unfriendlies that Tony had seen. This place was huge, maybe they were all too far away to hear it.

Slowly, they all relaxed. "Fool of a Took!" Gandalf growled at a visibly terrified Pippin, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He snatched his staff back from the hobbit with a huff.

That was a little harsh in Steve's mind, but he never got the chance to say so. Instead he heard drums.

"Mr Frodo!" Sam whispered, with a pointed look at the other hobbit's belt.

The sword on it was drawn and to Steve's amazement, it glowed blue like Tony's arc reactor.

"Drums in the deep," Bucky repeated darkly. He whirled around and checked outside of the doors again, Boromir with him. Arrows barely missed them both.

"They have a cave troll," Boromir stated. His expression reminded Steve of when Bucky saw Red Skull pull off his mask.

"What's a cave troll?" Tony asked, "Cause my mind is not painting a pretty picture." He plucked two pieces off the briefcase-suit and they automatically assembled into gauntlets around his hands.

"It is repulsive," Boromir assured him. He and Aragorn closed and barred the doors with anything in sight.

"Great," Bucky said sarcastically. He put himself between Steve and the door, leveling his rifle.

"Gimli, Boromir, take front," Steve ordered, falling into habit, "Aragorn, Legolas, behind them, bows out. Gandalf, protect the hobbits from anything that gets past them." He hefted his own shield with a grimace. This was not how he wanted his first real battle in this world to start.

"And me and Frosty, el Capitan?" Tony asked lightly. He stashed the rest of the suit in a crevice by the opposite door.

Steve gave him a dark grin. "We provide covering fire from up there," he answered, pointing to one of the ledges overhead, "You on one side, Bucky and me on the other."

It was a surprise when his advice was followed. Bucky and Tony, he could understand climbing up and bringing out their distance weapons like he said. They knew him and had followed him before. The rest had no reason to trust him or his orders.

"Let them come!" Gimli challenged, fierce rage in his voice, "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!" He planted himself on top of the sarcophagus, using the extra height to his advantage.

The plan worked better than he hoped, at first. Aragorn and Legolas shot through the gaps that the orcs cut in the door, killing several before the barrier was torn down. Between Boromir and Gimli they were covered enough to get several more shots in before they had to change over to melee weapons. All the while Bucky sniped enemies that got behind their friends and Tony burned them to a crisp wherever he could.

It took several minutes for everything to go to hell. By then there were fewer enemies to threaten the hobbits, who took Steve by surprise when they charged with a war cry. It looked like things were going to be okay, if messy.

Then the cave troll smashed its way in. Everything immediately went to hell.

From where he stood on the ledge, Steve was able to see the battlefield from above and it looked a horrifying amount like the one mosh-pit he had ever seen. Friends and enemies duked it out in no apparent order, the previously united front descended into a series of single duels. Well, that was being polite. Really it was several enemies attacking each of them at once.

It was lucky the orcs trickled to a stop when the cave troll got in here, Steve thought as he batted an orc off the side of the ledge with his shield. It fell to the floor below with a crunch and a squeal.

Beside him, Bucky had gone to his pistols until he could reload his rifle.

One of those shots hit the troll in the shoulder and it let out a roar of pain. Distracted from its current prey (Sam), it turned around and lumbered toward them with an evil look in its beady black eyes.

"Shit, Steve, go!" Bucky shouted with panicked, bulging eyes. He shoved his friend behind a pillar with one hand and fired with the other.

The shot hit home, right in the troll's eye socket, but the sudden loss of vision only enraged it. The heavy club it wielded came up…

"Hey, ugly!" Tony shouted across the hall. A beam of bright blue hit the troll's shoulder right where Bucky's bullet had, causing it even more pain.

The troll couldn't seem to decide where to focus its attacks. Tony and Bucky both yelled and shot it, Gimli took axes to its ankles and the humans would stab and slice wherever they could reach. That rage and confusion translated to it taking a spear and appearing to run Frodo straight through.

That was it. The hothead that he was, Tony took a running jump and landed on one of the troll's shoulders while Merry and Pippin did the same to the other. While the hobbits stabbed with their short swords, the genius wrapped his legs around its neck to lean over and blast it in both eye sockets with his repulsors. The rapidfire he used was quick to blast open the entire top of its head, half-cooked brains flying everywhere as the troll stumbled forward.

Tony jumped off and rolled away just in time to keep from getting smashed. "I'm too old to deal with this shit," he complained as he dragged himself to his feet.

The hobbits were thrown from where they clung to their swords, landing across the chamber with groans.

"Frodo, Frodo… Oh no…" Even Steve could hear Aragorn's murmurs as the man knelt beside the hobbit. He rolled Frodo gently off the spear.

The moment Frodo gasped for air, the entire Fellowship nearly crumbled with relief. "I'm fine, I'm not hurt," he assured them, hand to his chest.

"The fuck do you mean you're not hurt?" Tony demanded, "Not even Steve coulda got stabbed like that and lived."

"I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf stated with a smile.

When Frodo opened up his shirt and showed the beautiful silvery shirt he wore under it, Gimli gasped out, "Mithril…"

Aragorn couldn't help touching it.

"Now that we know everybody's alive and well, shouldn't we… you know, run?" Bucky asked regretfully.

"Quite right. To the Bridge of Khazad-dum," Gandalf agreed.

Inhuman shrieks heralded the arrival of more enemies. They were close enough for their shadows to be seen.

First Bucky jumped from the ledge, then he caught Steve. They were near the back of the line, right after Aragorn, and already the small blonde's throat was burning with asthma. Now more than ever he wished for his big post-Serum body.

They managed to make it to another large hall, more enemies behind, before they were surrounded by orcs. The things climbed down pillars in a way that would make a spider jealous, popped out of nowhere like Clint and Natasha, ran shrieking from doorways. It was a nightmare.

Steve was forced into the middle of the ring of warriors with the hobbits. He hefted his shield anyways, determined that if this was going to be his last moment he would go down fighting.

While the rest handled the standoff, Bucky reloaded his pistols. Pistol whipping wasn't his favorite method of combat and he was out of bullets.

With a gulp, Tony reached behind him and took Steve's free hand. The other was pointed out ahead of him, palm glowing with power. "Steve, when I go down, press the button on the top of the briefcase," he instructed in a low voice, "There should be enough power left to get you out through one of those window slits."

It hit Steve like a freight train. Tony was saying goodbye.

Then there was a shaking and a dull growl from behind them. It unsettled the beings surrounding them, which lowered their weapons slightly. Another had them scurrying away in terror.

While Gimli laughed, Steve whispered, "Oh God…" Whenever bad guys got scared, it was a guarantee that something even bigger and badder had arrived.

Gandalf turned around to face whatever it was, and seemed to freeze.

The hall was being lit up a bright orange, like the stone itself was on fire. And it was only getting brighter, closer.

"You don't happen to have demons here, do you?" asked Bucky hoarsely.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir questioned similarly, shuffling anxiously.

It got Gandalf talking. "A balrog- a demon of the ancient world," he answered ominously.

"Yeah, um, how about we not?" Tony suggested with a shaky laugh.

"This foe is beyond any of you… Run!" The minute he stopped talking, Gandalf sprinted away faster than any of them had yet seen.

It was more than Steve's abused lungs could take to try to keep up again. He was getting dizzy with lack of oxygen as his throat swelled and lungs closed up. Near the back of the line, he stumbled along as fast as he could but to no avail.

Then he was scooped up by strong arms and held close to a solid chest. Legolas had come up behind him and was now running with ease among the rest of the Fellowship.

"Thanks," Steve coughed.

"Tis not a problem," Legolas returned regally. Steve envied how easily he kept up with the rest, not breaking a sweat.

They got through a small doorway and Steve hoped that would slow the balrog down. It must have been massive to radiate that much heat and light.

Boromir let out a yell and Steve barely saw him get yanked back from the end of a staircase by Gimli.

"Lead them on Aragorn, Steve. the bridge is near," Gandalf instructed between panting breaths. He looked older than Steve had ever seen him, tired and afraid as he leaned on the wall.

When they looked, there was a long arch over the deepest chasm Steve had ever seen. It must have been a couple miles out.

"Not that far, my ass," Tony muttered as he passed them to the left.

Steve couldn't disagree with that sentiment. If Legolas weren't carrying him, he'd probably collapse just at the sight.

In worry, Aragorn moved forward to help the old wizard.

"Do as I say!" Gandalf roared, more like himself again, "Swords are no more use here!"

There was a gap in the stairs they needed, Steve was able to see since he didn't have to watch his step like the others. The ceiling was rumbling with the balrog trying to get at them and rocks were getting shaken loose. It was possible that the gap would only get wider and trap some on this side, he thought as he was set down.

Legolas was the first to make the jump. "Gandalf!" he waved for the wizard to follow.

With amazing strength considering his age, Gandalf made it.

Arrows began raining down on them, turning an already bad situation worse. Luckily they had Legolas available to give covering fire, while Steve handed his shield off to Bucky to help defend them with.

Next Boromir made the jump, a hobbit under each arm. The already large gap widened as the stone crumbled beneath his feet.

"Frodo next!" Steve hacked out. They couldn't risk him getting caught on this side.

The Ringbearer was tossed ahead and caught by Boromir.

Tony took a running jump and crashed into Legolas, thankfully not knocking them both off the bridge. The suit was tossed after him by Bucky, who then took the jump himself.

It was actually kind of funny when Gimli insisted on jumping, saying, "No one tosses a Dwarf!" and then had to be pulled in by his beard. His howls of pain were less comic, but the fact that it was Legolas who pulled him in… They looked mutually disgusted as the Elf released the beard.

Then the bridge crumbled further. Aragorn jumped back several feet to keep from falling into the darkness below, and it would have seemed like an impossible situation. Except that Steve was tiny and this was Aragorn.

"Bucky! Legolas! Catch Steve!" the ranger bellowed, and suddenly Steve was flying.

It was exactly like all those times he jumped out of planes, the wind rushing past him audibly as gravity tried to take hold of him. Even the adrenaline spike was the same. Fortunately the landing was much softer as he nearly bowled over his best friend and the resident Elf.

Dizzy, Steve didn't protest when he was handed further back down the line to Tony. They were at the other end, with a clear view of where their friends stood on the precipice. "Gotta love him," the inventor said almost cheerfully as they watched the rock crumble forward and deposit Aragorn neatly with the rest of them.

"No kidding," Steve agreed

"Okay, time to go!" Tony shouted as the rest of the Fellowship barreled down the stairs toward them, Gandalf in the lead.

Steve was getting really tired of being hauled around like a sack of potatoes, he decided from where he was slung over Tony's shoulder. It was better than the alternative, so he kept his mouth shut.

They managed to get the several miles to the bridge before anything really panic-worthy happened, but when it did… "I think I just found out what Satan looks like," Steve stated dully as he watched a monster leap out from behind a wall of flame blocking off most of the city.

The creature itself looked to be made of lava and fire, with a base of dinosaur bones. The snorts it gave reminded Steve of a feral pig he had to save Dum Dum from once. How it made the ground shake with each step and how big those steps were, Steve was less able to say anything humorous about.

To put it nicely, Tony sped up. He may have been an atheist, but the devil seems to put fear into everyone. Miraculously he managed to run across the narrow bridge at top speed with Steve bouncing on his shoulder and not plummet off.

Once on the other side, Steve was set down to watch the rest of the Fellowship cross. They had been near the lead, only Boromir and Gimli ahead of them in the race to the bridge. Everyone made it and Steve let out a breath of relief.

Except that for some reason Gandalf had stopped in the middle of the bridge. "You cannot pass!" he shouted at the balrog.

"Gandalf!" Frodo shouted.

What was the wizard doing? He couldn't possibly face that-

Except that he obviously could. A bubble began to glow around the wizard as he continued, "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor...The Dark Fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun!" It made no sense to Steve's ears, but certainly sounded impressive.

The balrog was not so easily persuaded. It brought down a sword that looked to be made up of the same stuff as it was, only for the blade to shatter on impact with the bubble.

"Shit, the man really is a wizard," Tony said disbelievingly.

Aragorn took several steps forward, but Bucky grabbed his elbow. "Not yet. He might have this."

"Go back to the Shadow!" Gandalf shouted through gritted teeth.

The balrog brought out a whip, and Tony groaned out something about a whiplash as the flames tried to snap at the wizard.

"You- shall not- pass!" Gandalf yelled out in defiance. He brought his staff down on the stone under him, only for nothing to happen.

The balrog again did not seem impressed. It snorted again and took a step forward.

The bridge broke under it. In a flailing mess of fire and ash, the balrog howled as it fell into the darkness.

"Go, Gandalf!" Tony cheered.

The wizard turned around to join them, but the balrog was not done with him yet- the end of its whip wrapped around his ankle and dragged him down. "Fly you fools," he was able to tell them with wide grey eyes. Suddenly he was gone, just like Bucky had been gone.

Various Fellowship members yelled in horror as they watched their leader descend into the depths, falling to his doom. Frodo had to be picked up and carried by Boromir, or else he would have run back to the bridge.

Only Legolas's sudden grip on Aragorn's elbow kept the dark-haired man from doing the same. The look on his face was of shock, not believing his eyes as he was turned around. On his other side, Tony put a hand on his back as they walked heavily up the stairs.

"C'mon," Bucky muttered to Steve, and with an arm around the shorter man's shoulders dragged him along. He still used the vibranium shield to ward off arrows following them, but the defense was passive as they left the darkness of Moria.

It should have been a pleasure to feel sunlight on his face again, but all Steve felt was sadness. A good man had been lost in a place that he didn't want to go in the first place. He blinked several times to keep the tears back; this wasn't the time. They weren't safe yet.

Nearly everyone collapsed the second they were out of that wretched place. Now it was Aragorn holding Tony back while Legolas did the same to Gimli. Sam, Merry and Pippin had piled together sobbing. Only Boromir and Aragorn had any kind of composure, but it was forced.

Arm still wrapped around his shoulders, Bucky looked back at the huge gateway they had come through. "Was this what it was like when I fell?" he asked, voice choked.

Shocked, Steve looked up at him. when had he revealed that?

"When you were sick you rambled about how when you fell I jumped after you but when I fell you didn't. I haven't fallen yet, so… Was this what it was like? This sucking feeling in your chest?" Bucky explained. His grey eyes were misty as he watched the blackness of Moria.

"Something like it," Steve answered. It had been a sucking, burning explosion inside his torso that threatened to consume him like a black hole and leave no trace of him. But he wasn't going to say that.

"Legolas, get them up," Aragorn instructed softly.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir protested, clearly trying to hold back his own tears of frustration and grief.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," Aragorn pointed out, sheathing his sword, "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Come Boromir, Legolas, Tony, get them up." He hauled Sam to his feet more gently than he could have before beginning to look for Frodo.

The Fellowship gathered itself together and started walking. Their faces were contorted by sorrow or numb with disbelief as they shambled along. It had been a long day and they were exhausted.

Steve felt the grief for a friend gone too soon. In the few weeks that they had known each other Gandalf grew into the role of a wise neighborhood grandfather, with his twinkling eyes and sharp wit. The loss of him was terrible.

He hated that he was so grateful that it wasn't Tony or Bucky.


	5. Winter Is Coming

Many thanks to **Kae Richa** who I adore for all her feedback. In answer to why there are two Buckys: it started out as an excuse for me to use one of my favorite quotes of all time, which I haven't gotten to yet but you'll know it when you see it. Then it morphed into an exercise in writing the difference between pre- and post-fall Bucky. It'll be useful for his characterization in Fallen Cities. Now it's just a mess of feelings.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Winter Is Coming**

" _I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally. "_

― _W.C. Fields_

When the Fellowship got to the edge of the woods, it was coming up on evening. Too tired to run, they had stubbornly tramped on until the sight of trees gave them that second wind. The promise of safety had them jogging ahead.

The moment he was inside the treeline, Steve felt like he had stepped into a fairytale. There was an otherworldly quality about the forest that made something catch in his chest. Despite the thick, high canopy, there were spots of sunlight to guide them further in and the moss looked soft enough to sleep on.

Then again, anything and everything looked good to sleep on right now.

The only one who didn't look immediately relieved was Gimli. No, he was warier than even in Moria with his axe raised high. "Stay close young hobbits and Steve!" he warned in a hushed voice, "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch of terrible power. All those who look upon her fall under her spell… And are never seen again." It sounded like he considered this a worse fate than Moria.

Maybe because he knew Legolas, and maybe because he was well aware of the lack of Dwarf-Elf relations, Steve took it with a grain of salt. "Thanks," he said absently, and gazed around at the trees. If only he had a sketchbook… This world really was full of wonders.

Blue eyes flashed into his mind, like his own but more feminine in shape and with an all-knowing quality he usually restricted to Natasha. It made Steve feel more than a little naked. As sternly as he could, he told whoever it was (this Elf-witch Gimli was talking about?) to keep out of his and his friend's heads.

There was no indication that the woman received his mental scolding. It made him feel rather foolish.

Frodo stopped in his tracks and began looking around. Was he also seeing eyes in his head?

"Mr Frodo?" Sam asked, concerned.

Even as Gimli rambled about having the eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox, Steve knew something wasn't right. There was no animal noise. They weren't alone.

It was as if the archers melted into existence right then. There must have been a worse malfunction than usual in his eyes, Steve thought, because one minute they weren't there and the next there were arrows pointed into their faces.

All around him the rest of the Fellowship had their weapons raised. Legolas had an arrow pointed straight back at one of the strangers, Boromir his sword out, and Gimli's axe was still raised. Bucky had stepped in front of Steve and aimed pistols at two of the people ambushing them. Tony grimaced as he let his gauntlets get a charge.

Aragorn and the hobbits were the only ones not ready to attack. Their hands were up in surrender instead, the hobbits afraid and Aragorn conceding.

"The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," drawled a man- no, Elf- who must have been the leader of the group.

As Gimli growled, Tony elbowed him. "And you weren't obvious at all," the inventor shot back sarcastically.

The leader was well aware that it was an insult, because the look that he gave Tony was that of one scraping something disgusting off his shoe.

The Fellowship were brought up to platforms in the tree branches, high enough that by the time they got up the ladders (Steve slipping twice) it was well into the evening. The hobbits and Dwarf seemed even less comfortable than he did. Knowing that Dwarves generally dwelled underground and hobbits in low houses or dug out hills, it made sense. Bucky and Boromir were so large that the rope ladder swung with their every movement. Then there were the rest, who scampered up like squirrels.

Things only got more confusing when they were in the treetops because the conversation that sprung up was entirely in a different language. It must have been Elvish, but sounded like French with a British accent. All Steve could understand from where he had sat down on the floor was that the lead Elf's name was Haldir, and that was only from Aragorn's single-worded greeting.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves," Gimli mocked, before demanding, "Speak words we can all understand!"

"We have not had _dealings_ with the Dwarves since the Dark Days," Haldir replied, just as insulting in tone if not words.

"And you know what I say to that?" Gimli then growled out a phrase in his own language that must have been some form of insult, because Aragorn grabbed him and reprimanded quietly,

"That was not so courteous."

It provided an avenue for Steve to address the Elf from. He got to his feet before he spoke, to try to give himself a little more of an authoritative aura. "Thanks for bringing us up here," he said with a grim smile, "It was a difficult journey to get here through Moria. We're exhausted and hungry, and if we can stay the night we'll be grateful." He tried to be polite, thinking it would probably get better results.

At least Haldir seemed less inclined to gut him. "Even the children of Men are more courteous," he said in clear insult to the Dwarf, before his eyes naturally wandered over the rest of the Fellowship. When they got to Frodo, he went pale.

Steve ignored the snickering of his friends, and his own embarrassment, in favor of seeing what came of this. The misunderstanding about his age was common even not counting his years in the ice.

"You bring great evil with you," Haldir stated with a look that could have been called fearful, before he turned his eyes on Aragorn. "You can go no further." When he left Aragorn followed, determined to argue their case.

The argument that resulted was several minutes long. Just enough for everyone to begin to feel the grief of Gandalf's passing, rather than blocking it off to get things done.

With a deep breath, Steve leaned on Tony and enjoyed the scent of hot metal and coconut. It had a way of calming him like very little else. "This is bullshit," he mumbled into the other man's shoulder.

A bark of laughter made the chest in front of him vibrate. "Not disagreeing, short-stuff," he said.

Looking at Bucky got him a painful smile before his friend got back to finally reloading his rifle.

The night they spent in the treetops was tense. While the Elves were not unfriendly, giving them food and not blatantly insulting them, it was uncomfortable to be under constant watch.

Steve was so tired that he could barely stay awake long enough to feel paranoid. No, he settled in with his back to Bucky's front, head tucked under Tony's chin. Under their heavy arms, he felt safer than he was sure he should.

The next morning he was told that something had tried sneaking up on them in the night. It was called Gollum, whatever that was, and had luckily been chased off by the Elves. From what Steve heard, it was after Frodo and the Ring.

If he hadn't slept so well, Steve would have felt guilty for not waking up to help. As it was, he thanked the Elf who handed him some fruit and bread with a smile.

The returning smile was less forced than most. Almost fond.

The argument over where they would go from here must have been solved during the night; Haldir approached with a frown. "You will follow me," he instructed, "The Dwarf is to be blindfolded." He held out a strip of cloth to put over Gimli's eyes.

"No way. That's discrimination," Steve put in bluntly before anyone could say a word.

"It is my orders, little one," Haldir returned more gently.

"Like Steve said, we all walk in their on our own," Bucky rebutted stubbornly. The click as he closed up the end of his rifle was intimidating.

"Or, we can all be blindfolded," Tony said with a look that dared them to take that option.

Apparently it really was a big deal to have Gimli not know where he was, because the minute they were on the ground cloth was tied around all their eyes. Even Legolas, no matter how he grumbled that he shouldn't have to do this. In return, Tony kicked the Fellowship's Elf in the leg on the pretense of running into him.

For hours they were guided through trails in the woods. After Steve's fifth time falling in the first hour, someone sighed and plucked his shield off his back. Before he could protest, they picked him up and began walking. Yeah, this was getting really tiring.

The experience of being unable to see left his other senses open in a strange new experience. It was difficult to smell anything, as always before Project Rebirth, but what did make it through was the fresh scent of trees with an underlying hint of something floral and musky at the same time. Birds chirped and their footsteps were cushioned by a carpet of moss, the wind whispering in Steve's face as it ruffled his hair. It was relaxing, despite that he had no idea who was carrying him.

Admittedly he did fall asleep for a couple of hours, but he blamed it on still being sick. That run through Moria hadn't done his abused lungs any favors.

Finally, he was set down when he heard water. There was some kind of stream to cross.

The blindfold was removed and Steve blinked in the dappled light. There was a fairly wide river but no bridge, just someone else on the other side with a rope. That someone, another Elf, probably, threw one end of the rope over and it was tied to a tree. Were they expected to walk across that?

When Legolas sprang across without a problem, Steve groaned.

"Show off," Tony muttered.

Another rope was tossed over and attached at waist height. It wasn't much, but it was something to hold onto.

Steve reattached his shield to the harness on his back and with a gulp, got onto the rope when Aragorn gestured for the rest of the Fellowship to follow him. It felt like it pitched dangerously below them, each additional person sliding over a strain that it might not be able to accommodate. The only way he made it across was by sliding his feet along the rope and not looking down. While he wasn't afraid of heights, he didn't want to be reminded that the only things keeping him from falling into the river were two pieces of rope.

It was more than they could ask for that the Fellowship made it across. Pippin was light footed for a hobbit, almost springing across like an Elf. It gained him the envy of most, and the evil eye from Tony as he shuffled across unsteadily with the suit tied to his back in a makeshift harness. For all that Bucky was heavy with muscle, he was surprisingly light on his feet. Or maybe not so surprisingly, Steve had seen him dance and he almost glided across the floor then.

Once on the other side of the river Haldir explained, "Now you may walk free, and see the light that is Caras Galadhon for yourselves." He was proud of his homeland, and from the strange beauty of what Steve had seen so far he had every right to be.

That only magnified when they got to the actual city that night. The structures of Caras Galadhon, high in the trees, shone with a soft light much like the Elves who wandered through them, delicate and yet evidently strong. For the umpteenth time Steve wished for a sketchbook and pencil. This time he doubted he could do the sight justice. There was something even more otherworldly here than in the surrounding area, and yet natural like the buildings had simply grown by themselves to suit the needs of the Elves.

This time there was a staircase to get to where they needed to go, and Steve was grateful. He was sure another ladder climb would do him in.

Not that the stairs themselves were easy. They spiraled around the tallest tree that Steve had ever seen, the whole way to the top. That was high enough for even the physically fit to need a water break in the middle.

"You think they ever get tired of climbing all these ruddy stairs?" Bucky asked under his breath three quarters of the way up.

"We haven't even gotten up them once and I already am," Tony replied dryly, "This is why I have an elevator in my tower, thanks."

Now that Steve thought about it, this tree was probably half the height of Avengers Tower. That was still a good fifty stories.

The minute he got to the top he wanted to collapse onto the nearest bench, heart pounding and legs shaking with exertion, but that was not to be. Instead, their hosts came to greet them.

The beings that descended the stairs, hand in hand, were possibly the most alien that Steve had ever seen, just on the other side of the Chitauri. But while those had been ugly and strange on the outside, the aura he felt radiating out from these people made every hair stand on end. It wasn't a feeling of fear or being threatened though, it was that there was something unaccountably strange that didn't settle right with his mere human senses. Perhaps it was the age he could see in their eyes, the woman's more than the man's, and all the wisdom accumulated in those years; more than a human could ever hope to attain.

A feeling of humor and yet irony entered his mind, and it wasn't his. No, it was the woman's, whose eyes had been in his mind yesterday. A feeling of chagrin and apology followed before her presence vanished.

For all that Steve sensed that the woman had the greater power, it was the man who spoke. "The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you have in secrecy is now gone," he told them gravely, "Eleven there are here, yet nine set out from Rivendell." He let his statement linger as his gaze, powerful and regal, swept over them all. "Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him… I can no longer see him from afar," he requested.

"Gandalf the Grey did not cross the borders of this land. He has fallen into Shadow," the woman answered, eyes wide and voice far away as if in a trance.

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame: a balrog of Morgoth," Legolas informed them, almost spitting out the last word, "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria." He blamed himself as well as the rest of the Fellowship, it was obvious in his voice.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not know his full purpose," the woman assured him. Abruptly, she spoke to Gimli. "Do not let the emptiness of Khazad-dum fill your heart, Gimli son of Gloin. For the world has grown full of peril and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." How that was supposed to be comforting, Steve didn't know. Maybe it was an Elf thing, or maybe it was just this woman who must have seen so much.

Out of nowhere, Boromir began to cry. What was happening?

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost," the man stated.

Steve had enough of this. He couldn't stay silent any longer. "What becomes of the Fellowship is that we find a way to keep going," he said, straight to the faces of their hosts, "Back in my world, there was a war that it looked like the enemy was going to win. We thought they were going to keep rolling the whole way over to our country and take our people and exterminate us. But against all odds, we stopped them and we won. Now this world is depending on our Fellowship to do the same thing. How can we give up with all that at stake?" He looked to the people who had spread all this doom and gloom defiantly.

"We'll succeed, or we'll die trying," Bucky agreed seriously.

The woman smiled. It was as bright as sunshine but mysterious as moonlight. "The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and you will fall," she cautioned, "Yet hope remains while the Company is true." She looked to Sam as she said this, her eyes kind.

The hobbit blushed and looked away.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil," the woman told them kindly, "Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

That seemed to be the signal for them to go, because an Elf began to guide them away.

"Captain Rogers," the woman called.

Steve turned back to her with wary eyes. Just how much had she seen when she poked around in his head?

The Fellowship stalled, waiting for him.

"Your lungs are still inflamed and infected," the woman told him, "I will take you, and your friends, to our healing rooms."

It was an offer Steve gladly accepted. The wheezing bubbling feeling and sour taste were highly annoying.

The Fellowship split, with the original members going back down the stairs and Steve, Tony and Bucky following the woman across a bridge to another platform. They passed several doorways shielded from the outside world only by curtains, before the woman stopped at one and held the cloth open.

"Sorry, ma'am, but we didn't catch your name," Bucky said as they tramped into the room.

The woman smiled bemusedly. "I am Galadriel," she introduced herself, before she began to set up the supplies she needed. "If you would lie down, Captain, and remove your shirt?" She gestured to the large bed in the middle of the room as she mixed a poultice.

Feeling more naked than he had during Project Rebirth, Steve did so. The armor went on the floor with his shield before he got antsy. He was well aware that he was boney and skinny, all sharp angles and obscenely dirty. Smelly too, he thought as he tossed his shirt at Bucky's face.

The other man dropped it like a hot potato. "What was that for, punk?" he complained.

"He didn't want to see your ugly face," Tony returned with a smirk.

The squabbling that his friends erupted into helped ease Steve's mind as Galadriel smoothed the mixture she had made over his chest before bandaging it. Even she had a smile, just a tiny quirk of her lips, as she did so, the sounds of friendship and life echoing through the small room.

The poultice applied, Steve was then bade drink something that tasted strangely sweet. Like honey and mint, but with something savory that he couldn't identify. "What was that?" he asked when the cup was drained.

"It will fight your infection," Galadriel said in a non-answer. She cleaned up the preparation area before bidding them, "Stay, rest. Clothes will be brought for you, and a bath in the morning." With a last mysterious little twinkle of her eyes she left, footsteps soundless.

The moment they were alone, Tony commented, "Elves creep me right the fuck out." His brain to mouth filter had been getting a little better. At least he waited until Galadriel was out of sight before saying what was on his mind.

"Legolas isn't too bad," Steve reasoned. The Fellowship's Elf could be mysterious, yes, but he was generally very playful and sunny.

"Yeah, it's Aragorn that's creepy," Bucky agreed.

"Aragorn, really?" Tony snorted, unimpressed. He climbed onto the side of the big bed that he was on, by the window, once he kicked his shoes and socks off.

"Seriously, he has this whole 'I know everything but I'm not gonna say any of it' thing going on that makes me feel like he's reading my damn soul," Bucky insisted with a shiver. He put his guns to the side of the bed but within easy reach, a pistol under the pillow that he had apparently claimed. Most of his clothes went flying off and Steve had to look at the ceiling to keep his eyes from getting glued to the sight of his best friend in nothing but boxers.

"Oh thank the gods, I was afraid you were a prude like Cap," Tony groaned and sure enough, he was in nothing but his underwear.

"Steve, a prude? You've got to be kidding, there's _no_ privacy in the army." Bucky had the gall to laugh as he laid back on his portion of the bed.

"Shut up, both of you," Steve muttered under his breath. He chucked his boots at the wall and wriggled out of his belts before slipping under the covers. There was no way he was getting down to his skivvies, that would give the other two more information than he ever wanted them to have about his unrequited feelings.

"Yes, sir," Buckyy teased, rolling over so that his back was to the other two, "Night Stevie, Tony."

"Night," Tony replied, closing his eyes.

Steve decided to indulge himself. He turned on his side and scooted until his boney spine pressed flush against Tony's side and threw an arm over Bucky. If either of them had a problem with it they could deal with it because he was tired and sick and constantly cold.

There were no protests. If anything they moved closer together.

All three were out like lights within minutes.

* * *

In Edoras, Eowyn was falling into despair. Her brother had been banished and her uncle was dying faster than ever. Theodred was away doing his duties with the army and not expected back for the next two weeks.

The only source of comfort she had now was James. It was strange, she heard whispered in the halls, that a princess of the Rohirrim would grow so dependent upon a foreigner. Unseemly, some said.

Eowyn found him sleeping in front of her door like a guard dog a week after he was released from the healing wing. "This is under my protection and woe to any who try to tread on me," he said with that action.

She shook her head fondly, unable to decide if she was more sad or amused by his actions. "Why are you sleeping on my doorstep?" she asked lightly when she first opened the door to find that he hadn't woken.

Instantly James was awake and scanning the hall for threats. When he found none, he relaxed just enough to show a sliver of emotion. "I apologize for not being awake on time," he said with chagrin as he got to his feet.

"Do you think I expect you to sleep in the hall?" Eowyn asked, wondering if she had somehow managed to forget to tell him about his rooms.

"I am your bodyguard. That means that your safety is my responsibility," James stated. There was a touch of confusion in his voice despite his blank face.

"Your rooms are connected to mine," Eowyn pointed out, "If anything happens at night you will be within reach." The door to James's rooms had been kept unlocked through all the nights since they were given to him, specifically for that reason.

James shook his head stubbornly. "That is not good enough," he told her with no uncertainty.

Too shocked and happy at his argument to argue back, Eowyn conceded. "If you must sleep by my door, you are welcome to sleep inside," she replied instead.

When James settled in for the night, he discovered blankets and pillows set on Eowyn's side of the door for him. Like a cat he put it all exactly how he wanted and curled up, sound asleep within minutes.

That was how Eowyn realized that he was an extraordinarily light sleeper, if he ever fell fully asleep. Every movement she made would cause him to crack an eye open, and then when he assessed the room again he would close it again. Nightmares gave him trouble, sometimes waking her with his thrashing and whimpers of discomfort.

The first time that happened, Eowyn was afraid to wake him or try to comfort him. The second, she decided that she could not leave him to suffer in silence. Instead she sat on the ground beside him, stroking his hair and murmuring gentle words until his sleep became peaceful again.

Neither of them slept well between their paranoia and nightmares. It was better than apart, so they made do and made no mention of it.

The whispers only got more intense with James's disappearance from the hall. From what Eowyn overheard when the maids thought no one was around, it was a common topic of gossip that James's bed was always found cold and unused in the mornings. The only place that anyone could think he was in the early morning hours while the village slept was in Eowyn's rooms and the imaginations of rumormongers made it into everything that it wasn't.

At least right now, she did not care about what was said about her. The quiet company of her bodyguard was one of the few things she took comfort in anymore and she would not deprive herself.

It was a similar comfort to James, she saw after a few days. This was an unfamiliar place and he was just beginning to learn how to be a man rather than an abused animal. That he trusted Eowyn enough to sleep around her, even if it was lightly and nightmare ridden, was an honor.

Theoden King died on the eighteenth of February.

His was a dismal death, wheezing and weak in his bed, blind and deaf and dumb. It was as if he had aged to a hundred and ten in the past year and his body had simply given out. With Eomer banished and Theodred on campaign, that left Eowyn in charge until her cousin could be summoned.

The funeral was quick, the times demanding it. Proper rites were conducted, of course; Eowyn sang the funeral dirge with tears in her eyes as she watched her uncle disappear into the darkness of his burial mound.

Beside her, James's head was bowed with respect. Though he had not gotten the chance to truly know her uncle, Theoden had still been a king.

Across the walkway, Wormtongue gazed covetously at her. Only when he caught James's eye did he look away, face gone slightly blue. He was still frightened of the foreigner and unsure what to make of him.

When the service was finished, the crowd dispersed and Eowyn led the way up to Meduseld for the traditional funeral feast. It was not much, for Theoden's death had been sudden and it was mid-winter, but it was enough to feed the townspeople adequately. Drink flowed freely through the hall, though there were more tears than bouts of laughter and more silence than chatter. It was a dismal scene, Eowyn thought from where she watched beside the throne.

When the feast ended she arranged the cleaning of the hall before retiring. This day had been a shocking and emotional one. More tired than she believed possible without an enemy to fight, Eowyn collapsed on her bed the moment the door was closed.

"I won't ask if you're alright. I know you're not," James said from where he stood with his back to the door.

"No, I am not," Eowyn agreed. She buried her face in her pillow, hugging it tightly to her chest in an effort to keep herself together. It did not work and the tears burst out. Mortified, she suppressed her cries in the fabric of her pillow.

Near her hip the bed dipped and a large, warm hand ran up and down her back. There were no words, but there did not need to be.

For several minutes Eowyn wept. Only when she felt like a wrung out dress and sick to her stomach did she manage to get a hold of herself, sniffling desolately. Embarrassed at her lack of control, she kept her face hidden.

"Don't do that. It's alright to cry, especially in front of me. I won't tell, I promise," James assured her awkwardly. It was the best thing he could have said right then.

"Stay with me?" Eowyn croaked out. She didn't want to feel alone tonight, needed someone there to ground her.

"Always," James responded with a tilt of his lips that could have been a smile.

They changed into their night clothes and Eowyn was already under the covers when James came back in. Despite that nothing was going to happen, butterflies fluttered in her stomach when he slid under the blankets with her. It was only emphasized when she saw the glint of a dagger under his pillow, always there to protect her.

When she closed her eyes, Eowyn was overcome with memories of when she was a child and would crawl in with her cousin after a nightmare. He was so much older than her, but never took her to task for waking him. Instead he would welcome her and let her curl up with him. This was the same feeling as she had back then. Somehow she was lucky enough to have discovered a third brother, in her heart.

That was probably the first night of peaceful sleep that Eowyn had in months.

The next morning, Eowyn unsheathed her sword and called out the battle cry of the kings, slightly altered for her gender, "Riders of Rohan! Your Queen is in need of you!" Her voice rang true throughout the hall.

The doors burst open and knights of the city burst into the house to witness her. They gazed in awe at her as she stood upon the dais and most immediately unsheathed their swords. "Hail, Eowyn Queen!" they shouted.

"In my cousin's absence, I shall be Queen Regent," Eowyn declared, "to lead you in fairness and honor until death take me." The oath was short and sweet, enough to get the point across but not stifling or heavy with ceremony.

From the shadows, a pair of dark eyes glinted angrily.

In a presumptuous act, but necessary, Eowyn took the few steps back and sat upon the throne with her unsheathed sword across her knees. It was all but a declaration of wartime. "Do your duties, riders of Rohan!" she ordered.

The men returned their swords to their sheaths and left. Suddenly everything was as it had always been, and yet not. The only difference was that Eowyn was an acting Queen now, but the whole world had turned on its head in the space of five minutes.

To one of the loyal members of the King's guard, she ordered, "Send out a rider recalling my cousin to Edoras."

The man bowed and hurried away.

Unable to keep still after such a large event, Eowyn leaped to her feet and sheathed her sword. It was kept on her belt, a symbol to be seen. "Open the windows," she ordered of the servants milling about, "Light a fire. Let the doors be opened." As she watched Meduseld begin to glow golden as it had for most of her life, she murmured, "Too long has this hall been in shadow."

As always, James was a step behind her and analyzing everything. He seemed impressed at how quickly and how well the hall could be lit up. When he noticed that he was being looked at, he turned his attention immediately to Eowyn. "Is there anything you require of me, Your Highness?" he asked solemnly.

"When we are alone, keep calling me Eowyn," she returned with a smile, "Otherwise I'm afraid it must be 'My Lady' or 'My Queen' for you." It was a shame. Perhaps she could look into him being given special privileges after her cousin was properly King.

"As you wish, My Queen," James answered with a respectful dip of his head. When he tried straightening up again, he grimaced in pain.

"Are you alright?" Eowyn asked. It was unusual for her friend to show signs of discomfort, even when his wound was stretched.

"Yes, I-" James was cut off by a gasp. He clenched his hands at his sides in pain.

Concerned, Eowyn reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder. She had to withdraw inches from his skin, he was blazing hot. "James?" she called.

"I know this feeling," he gritted out, "It feels like…" He snapped his head back and fell to his knees, legs unable to support him any longer. On hands and knees he panted.

Several wet snaps made Eowyn begin shouting for a healer. Even as she did so she watched in horror as what looked like every bone in her friend's body broke and then remade itself. His shoulders broadened and waist went more trim, thighs gaining muscle even as he collapsed onto the stone floor.

The healers arrived, as well as more curious onlookers, to see what was the matter. "What is going on here?" asked Garulf, wide eyed, as he watched.

"I was going to ask you!" Eowyn said, unable to tear her eyes from her friend's agonized writhing.

"I have never seen anything like this," Garulf admitted.

Suddenly James let out a long, drawn out scream. The noise was barely human. Blood soaked his clothing from everywhere, in lines and circles like invisible swords and arrows wounded him. His nose went sideways and then righted itself, gashes sliced his face and neck and then healed just as fast. What looked like every injury a man could have and more appeared on his skin and in his contorting frame until finally it looked to be over. There were no more screams and he collapsed, twitching, onto the floor.

"James? James!" Eowyn hurried forward to turn him over and was confronted with dazed grey eyes.

"Eowyn?" His voice was weak and unsure as his eyes struggled to focus.

"Yes, yes, it's Eowyn," she answered with a stern look at Garulf.

The healer bustled away, ordering servants to prepare a bed in the healing ward. Again.

"No, no, I'm fine," James insisted. He relied on Eowyn for support but was able to stand up on shaking legs. It was like watching a calf learn to walk.

Reluctantly, Garulf canceled the order. "I must insist that you sit down, at least," he said with a stern look at the foreigner.

One arm over Eowyn's shoulders, James took a step toward the bench. Then another. With each his legs grew steadier until he was able to walk under his own power. Steadily, smoothly, he got the rest of the way to the bench by himself before plopping down.

"What happened? It was like you were being attacked by invisible foes," Eowyn said shakily. For those heart stopping minutes, she was sure that she would lose one of her few friends.

Dimly, she was aware of Garulf ordering everyone who had gathered to disperse.

"Zimniy soldat," James answered, though it made no sense. Directly after, he translated, "The Winter Soldier. The experiments that made me into a monster, and everything that happened between then and now, all at once." He trailed his fingertips along his torso as if searching out a hidden wound.

"You are not a monster," Eowyn reprimanded sharply, "You are my friend and my guard. Now tell me what this means." She needed to know exactly what these changes meant. It may affect what duties she could or could not assign her friend, and more importantly, it may impact their friendship itself.

The answers were more extraordinary than Eowyn expected. "In the past I've outrun horses, lifted fallen trees, healed from what would have been mortal wounds, and shot men from more than half a mile away, among other things," James listed out with a grimace, "I can't get sick, be poisoned, or get drunk either." He rubbed at where his metal arm connected to his shoulder. It most likely hurt more than ever.

When Eowyn thought about it, she realized that this is what he had meant all those days ago when he was horrified by how slowly he was healing. James was used to being superhuman. Being an ordinary person again must have made him feel helpless and weak.

"Do you think you can continue as my bodyguard?" she requested.

The grin she was given was mischievous. "I think I can do that," James answered wryly.


	6. A New Mission

Many thanks to **Kae Richa** for the review! You're wonderful and I hope my PM helped answer your questions.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: A New Mission**

 _"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by."_

 _― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt_

The Fellowship spent nearly a month in Lothlorien. The antics they got up to certainly livened up the place, Steve privately acknowledged when he had a moment.

There was grief for Gandalf, of course. Even he felt it, despite having known the wizard only a week and some. He had been a good man. But Gandalf was certainly not the kind of man to appreciate a long period of mourning, so he forced himself to find other things to occupy is time with.

One of those things, it turned out, was the blacksmith. Not many Elves here in Lothlorien spoke English, or the Common Tongue, as it was called. Luckily the smith was one of those.

On their fifth day of wandering around, he approached them. "If I may ask, I would like to look at your weapons," he requested with bright eyes as he gazed at the metalwork, "I have traveled some to see other methods of forming metal and would very much like to learn what I can of your equipment." He was so earnest, there was no way the Avengers or Bucky could say no.

Several days were spent allowing the smith to inspect and exclaim over their weapons. Only the Iron Man armor was not put under the hypothetical microscope, too low on power to be brought out for anything but charging. Hopefully there would be a storm soon, Tony thought, because that would be the easiest way.

The smith was kept well enough preoccupied by Bucky's guns and Steve's shield. He had never seen anything like the pistols or rifle, and was utterly fascinated by the mechanics of the bullets and gunpowder. "Can you show me how they work?" he requested eagerly on the second week.

Bucky grimaced. "I don't have much ammunition left or I would," he said apologetically. The pat he gave his rifle was consoling.

That seemed to light a fire under the smith's ass. It was several days before anyone saw him again, and when they did, he had emerged triumphant from his workshop with what looked exactly like several bullets. "I was able to requisition some lead and copper to make these," he explained as Bucky inspected them closely, "It was difficult to find anything like the 'gunpowder' you described to me, but I mixed sulfur, charcoal and saltpeter until I was able to make it explode like you said."

Amazed, Tony gaped at the Elf before he grinned. "As long as you don't start handing out guns to everyone, I think you should be good," he said cheerfully, "That's the basic elements of gunpowder, mellon nin." In the past few weeks he had picked up a few useful phrases in Elvish, including how to tell someone to go kiss an orc.

To make sure, Bucky loaded a round into the chamber of his rifle and aimed at a rock several yards away. The blast was louder than usual, and there was some smoke, but when it cleared the rock was substantially holier than before. "This works," he said, impressed.

With that one less worry, Tony felt no guilt in signing his friend up for an informal competition among the archers. "What, Glawar wants the full demonstration," he said in reference to the blacksmith when Bucky leveled a glare at him.

Reluctantly, the future Winter Soldier gave in and took the target at the end of the line of Elves on the day of the competition. The targets were about fifty yards away at that point. "Hey, uh, can you warn them that this is really loud and I'll be firing after everyone else to keep from upsetting their aim?" he asked of Legolas awkwardly.

The blonde Elf nodded and translated for the others. He already knew, from the battle in Moria.

Though he was given some confused looks, the other Elves did not argue. The looks only grew stranger when Bucky set the butt of the gun against his shoulder and squinted down the barrel. They wanted a competition of aim, they would get one.

When signaled, the archers released their arrows. When all of them left the string, Bucky pulled the trigger.

The Elves all jumped and a few swore as they gave Bucky startled glares.

Rather than reply, Bucky grinned and chambered the next round.

The targets were inspected and three of the dozen competitors were dismissed. Bucky was one of those that had hit the bull's eye and was integrated into the next level.

Tony let out a laugh at the bemusement of his fellow spectators as the human adjusted to aim at the next target. This one was seventy five yards away and about half the size of the previous one. Easy.

Behind him, Tony managed to make out enough to know that people were placing bets. "Oooh, let me get in on that," he squealed, digging in his pockets for anything he could afford to lose.

It wasn't in time for the next round. The archers were told to release their arrows, and a few seconds later Bucky fired his rifle. This time, four Elves were disqualified.

"Who wants to bet he'll outshoot everyone here?" Steve whispered with mirth.

"Not that stupid," Tony answered as he watched even smaller targets get set up about a hundred yards away. They were about the size of a dinner plate now.

Sure enough, at the end of that round it was Bucky versus Legolas and one other Elf.

The next round was a target the size of a tea cup, set a hundred and twenty five yards out. It was the very end of the clearing and if anyone wanted to shoot further, the targets would have to be placed in the trees.

Sure enough, It was only Legolas and Bucky left at the end of that round. It was declared a tie, though the Elf who organized this shindig made sure to emphasize that in _archery_ Legolas won.

Bucky didn't take it too hard. While admiring Elves surrounded his friend, he clicked the safety back on. "Not bad for an old man," he teased cheerfully over the crowd

"Very good for one who has not seen a century," Legolas returned in kind.

To put it mildly, Glawar was ecstatic at his success and promised to replicate the rounds that went in Bucky's pistols in exchange for demonstrations of those.

In the next competition, Bucky used his handguns and was disqualified in the second to last round. "Shorter barrel, less accuracy," he explained when Glawar looked politely puzzled. It was still a damn good show.

Other than their dealings with the blacksmith and trying to keep him from unleashing gunpowder on Middle Earth, there wasn't much for the Avengers to do. Steve managed to find some paper and charcoal to draw with, and spent a great deal of time sketching what he had seen so far. Bucky, the lazy sod, slept more often than not. Tony spent most of his time either with Steve or Gimli, or in the smithy with Glawar, showing off some techniques he had learned way back when.

On the second week, Boromir seemed more distraught than usual as he wandered around. Was the guy a perpetual bucket of angst, or was Tony just lucky? Either way he couldn't stand for it, so he tagged along on one of the large man's walks.

"What's up, buttercup?" Tony asked when Boromir gave him a questioning look.

"I worry about the war and my brother," the other man said tensely, "I left Gondor in July to seek the meaning of a dream and it is already late in January. Things may have changed drastically."

"A dream?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow. He hadn't known Boromir of all people would ascribe to such superstition.

As Boromir recounted it in a low voice, the effect it had on him was obvious. He was haunted by the voices he heard in his dreams and terrified by the message within.

"Just because it's all in your head doesn't mean it's not real," Tony quoted in concession.

"That is a fascinating saying," Boromir commented, "It is very wise."

Tony wondered what all the haters back on Earth would think of that. "Sometimes it comes from the weirdest places. This one was from a children's book," he admitted.

"Tell me about your war, the one Steve and Bucky fought in," Boromir requested out of nowhere.

"They would be the better ones to tell you about it," Tony said with a laugh, "I wasn't even thought of yet when that was happening." No, his father had been just like him- a playboy in unrequited love with Captain Steven Grant Rogers.

"War scars people in heart and mind, if not in body. I would rather not prod at theirs, not when they are still so recent," Boromir said softly.

That, Tony could agree with. The ghosts of wartime past were hidden but Steve was still just a few years out, and whenever Bucky had a moment to himself his eyes became cold and empty with memories, like dark tunnels. They had PTSD up the ying-yang and he wanted nothing more than to help.

It was all but impossible to help them when he had his own triggers, Tony thought with a self depreciating smile. "Alright, I guess I can tell you," he said, "It really was a world war, with only a small portion of the globe not fighting. And even those sometimes got dragged kicking and screaming into the mess. From what I was told and what I read, it was horrible." Only the supposed War to End All Wars had been more brutal, that he heard about.

"The country we were mainly fighting, Germany, seemed unstoppable in 1943. They had conquered an area the size of Middle Earth and were pushing further every day. Only the people who lived in the north, the Russians, were left resisting them in the continent, and the British on their island. But it was enough," Tony paraphrased, remembering all the stories his dad had told and all the books he read.

"What was enough?" Boromir asked softly. He was likely comparing this to his own experiences, and Tony realized that they were strangely similar in situation if not geography or specifics.

"A man once said, 'We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.' You know what I say to that?" Tony asked hypothetically.

"He is an orator of great skill," Boromir commented with slightly teary eyes.

Tony made a note to send Churchill's grave some flowers and his living relatives a card. You know a man is good when his speeches drive someone from another world to tears. "I say that I see that same steel in you, if not the same kind of oral prowess," he answered, "And they won."

The smile that grew on Boromir's face was like the sun coming from behind the clouds. "I thank you for your encouraging words. It puts my mind at ease to know that another power has overcome such overwhelming odds as Gondor now faces," he said, looking much less conflicted. Good.

"Stark men are made of iron," Tony recited, and then added, "Gondorian men are made of steel."

That was just what Boromir needed to hear. His shoulders were less tense now, his stride less hurried as they passed through the woods. "And you? What is your story?" he asked interestedly.

It took a minute to remember that he hadn't said nearly as much about himself as he did about all the embarrassing things that happened around Steve. "It's a long, sad sob story," he dismissed it with a flippant wave of his hand.

"I would hear it, if you would tell it," Boromir asked eagerly.

One look into those earnest grey eyes and Tony was done for. His turn, now. "It all started with my dad, Howard," he began. As he talked, returning the confidence that Boromir had given him, he felt them beginning to get closer. It was a strange and frightening feeling.

There was some confusion about the concept of a missile, at first. But when Tony compared it to a self-launched catapult stone with amazing range, that exploded, Boromir got the idea. "It sounds like a truly useful weapon," the Gondorian said wistfully.

Bitterly, still angry at himself, Tony shook his head. "Too much collateral damage," he refuted, "Too powerful for militaries to be trusted with, I think sometimes." He went on to explain about how he got his arc reactor and the price that Yinsen paid for his life, with his own. Even the beating and waterboarding came tumbling out of his mouth, his fear and then resignation that he wasn't going to make it home, before Yinsen shamed him into living. "After that I swore never again," he finished, "Instead I made myself into a weapon and started trying to make up for all the death and destruction Stark weapons had caused over the decades. It's a long, slow process, but I like to think that I'm doing some good in this world. Me, Steve, and the other Avengers."

"I was told once that it is not our mistakes that define us, but what we do to correct them," Boromir said quietly, "I think that you have shown your quality admirably, Tony Stark."

It meant more than Tony could say, coming from as good a man as he knew Boromir was. Instead of trying to put it into words, he offered to help raid the kitchens.

From the gleam in Boromir's eyes, he understood.

The weeks slowed down until it felt like they had been in Lothlorien for years. Time sped up until Tony was sure that they had just arrived. He decided quickly that he couldn't trust his perceptions here, which peeved him.

At least they had gotten some decent rest, he acknowledged gratefully. The Elves fed and housed them and gave them access to bathing facilities whenever they felt needed, so Tony was happy enough. The clothes were comfortable too, even if tights really weren't his style.

When it came time to leave, he was actually sad to see this place go. It was peaceful, something he never had enough of in his life.

The argument that preceded it was anything but.

"You should stay behind, Steve," Aragorn advised with a sympathetic smile.

"I was dropped in front of you for a reason. I'm going," Steve said stubbornly.

"As much as your presence would delight me, it would be a gamble that I am not comfortable taking," Aragorn said, more firm this time, "Your health is too delicate." He had a point.

That didn't mean Tony was going to take this lying down. "We're a team," he butted in, "We all stay or we all go. We don't leave a man behind, right?" He looked to the rest of the Fellowship for support.

They seemed split. The hobbits were all for it, possibly because he was short too and they were a very loyal bunch. Legolas and Gimli voted for him to stay behind where it was safe. Even after knowing him for weeks, they had no idea.

Boromir was conflicted, from his strained expression. "His advice was invaluable in Moria," he pointed out.

"I go where Steve goes," Bucky said with a shrug, "If that means staying here, I'm cool with that. If you bring us along, even better. But I think he does bring up a good point. Of all the places in this world to land, why would we end up right where you are if we weren't supposed to help you on your quest?" He was polishing his weapons like he hadn't a care in the world, despite how carefully he chose his words.

When the Fellowship turned to Tony for the last vote, he jerked his head toward Bucky. "Like he said: I go where Steve does," he told them.

Five for, three against, one undecided, and two ambivalent. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were overruled and Steve was decked out in travel clothes like the rest of them.

The next day the Fellowship were lined up by the river to receive their gifts, which included a nifty color changing cloak like the Elves on the borders wore. It was supposed to look like whatever natural thing was nearby. "Hey, do I look like a tree?" Tony called when he pressed himself against one of the mallorns.

"You look like an idiot hugging a tree," Bucky answered dryly.

The other gifts were more personalized. Aragorn got a new sheath for his sword and Merry and Pippin received knives that in their hands would be daggers. Legolas looked like he was going to squeal with happiness as he inspected his new bow and Boromir was overwhelmed when presented with a gold belt. In a beautifully carved wooden box, Sam received dirt from Galadriel's garden for when he got back to the Shire, whatever that meant. The glass Frodo was given was possibly the most mysterious of the lot, "A light to guide you when all other lights go out." Apparently it was water with starlight trapped in it.

Bucky's gift was a straight razor with a mother of pearl handle. The look in his eyes when he gazed at it, then the queen who presented it to him, was adoring. His biggest complaint for the past several weeks was finding a razor for when they moved on, because he didn't feel like looking like a goddamned yeti.

Charcoal sticks, a silver fountain pen, and a bottle of ink were all packed into a wooden case that was presented to Steve with a thick book of blank parchment. The covers of the sketchbook were made of hardened leather, with designs of trees pressed into them in silver ink. It was everything that he had been hoping for since he got here, he stammered out in thanks.

Then Galadriel turned her freaky, all knowing eyes on Tony. "For you, Tony Stark, I have a sword of the Noldor, proven in battle," she said, and presented to him a blade much like those that he remembered the border guards carrying. The blade was curved like a katana, but leaf shaped with a very long handle bound with gold-embossed leather in a leaf pattern.

The metalwork was beautiful, but it wasn't the only thing about this gift that left Tony breathless as he gazed at it. Over his time in Lothlorien he had learned that Galadriel could sometimes see into the future and act accordingly. If she was giving him a sword, he would need to use it.

When she saw that he understood, Galadriel moved to stand in front of Gimli. "And what would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?" she asked, apparently unable to figure out on her own what to give him.

"I wish nothing more than to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim once more, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth," Gimli replied, as if in a trance.

Tony felt his jaw drop. For all that the Dwarf had distrustfully warned them against an Elf-witch when they entered these woods, he was certainly caught in her spell now. "Never thought I'd see a Dwarf in love," he said, newly impressed with the queen.

While Galadriel busied herself and her maids with getting a gift for the love-struck Dwarf, the rest of the Fellowship loaded the boats and climbed in. Aragorn was paddling Frodo and Sam in one, while Boromir took the other two hobbits. One boat was commandeered by Legolas and Gimli, and the last was taken by Tony, Steve, and Bucky. For being rowboats they were actually quite comfortable and steady.

Too bad the hobbits were having some trouble, especially poor Sam. Their favorite cook looked like he wanted nothing more than to jump back out to dry land.

There was some final whispering between Lord Celeborn, Steve, and Aragorn before they got underway. Whatever it was, from the looks on their faces it wasn't good.

"What's wrong, Spangles?" Tony asked as he guided the boat to follow Boromir's.

"Lord Celeborn said that we're being pursued," Steve answered, brow wrinkling with his frown.

Okay, that was bad news. "How does anyone know that we're even traveling this way?" Tony questioned, trying to figure out how best to fool their enemies.

"Orcs patrol the eastern shore," Aragorn called back, just quietly enough to keep his voice from carrying.

That explained it. Unwilling to think about troubles that they couldn't solve and didn't need to make a decision on just yet, Tony pushed it to the back of his mind. Of course he would think about it more later, process it and make a plan just in case Steve and Aragorn's had holes. But not right now.

No, instead he started humming. "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…" What he didn't say but did snicker about was the improvised line, "Once the Ring belongs to me, I'll only need a queen." Because he couldn't care less about the Evil piece of tacky jewelry hanging around the vulnerable neck of a hobbit near them.

It was weird, and concerning, but Tony was grateful to not be tested. He had never been good at those kind of moral questions. The concept was put in the back of his mind to ask Steve and Bucky about later, however.

Days passed and Tony grew more tired of the boats than afraid of getting thrown overboard. The scenery was nice, he had to admit, but the forests and cliffs were unchanging. He wanted to walk or run for his life, or do anything but spend one more day in these goddamned boats.

All frustration was forgotten upon seeing a pair of glowing silvery eyes watching them unblinkingly one night. "Aragorn? What's that?" he asked in a whisper, gesturing to the floating log he had seen them on.

"Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria," the Ranger answered grimly, "I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he is too clever a waterman." While he seemed concerned about this thing, it wasn't enough to have Bucky or Legolas shoot it.

"How could anything track us from Moria?" Tony asked incredulously, "That balrog destroyed the bridge." Quite frankly anything that determined to stalk them almost deserved to.

"And if he alerts the Enemy to our whereabouts, it would make the crossing even more dangerous," Boromir stated darkly.

"If he hasn't already, I don't think he will," Steve refuted, joining them.

The log, and its cling-on, passed out of sight down the water. Two to one odds this Gollum would just find a spot on one side of the river or the other and watch them all night. Make sure they didn't manage to sneak off.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road," Boromir said intensely, "You know it. From there we can regroup… strike out for Mordor from a place of strength." In a way, he had a point. It would be a good idea to refresh their supplies again before they made the final leg of the trip.

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," Aragorn said coolly.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves," Boromir pointed out, almost cruelly, "Have you so little faith in your own people?"

Tony looked to Steve, who frowned at the proceedings. They were only days onto the road again and already at each other's throats. Was the Ring affecting them this badly?

"Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men," Boromir said persuasively, before his face twisted into an expression that was unnatural and almost frightening on him, "But you will not see that."

Aragorn tried to end the argument and leave, but his arm was grabbed and he was forcibly turned around by the Gondorian.

"Calm down." Steve's voice cut through the turmoil of the argument, leaving both men blinking in surprise; like they were unaware of what they had been doing until now. "Boromir, please let go of Aragorn. Aragorn, if you could help me inventory the supplies, that would be great." He was only assigning them menial tasks to get them away from each other and it showed.

There was no argument. Without a word, but expression troubled, Aragorn walked side by side with the shorter blonde to the boats just within sight.

Exhausted, Boromir collapsed on a rock. His head was in his hands as if to block out the outside world.

"What's going on in your head, Horatio Hornblower?" Tony asked, sitting on a tree stump nearby.

"I don't know what's come over me," Boromir admitted quietly, horror in his eyes as he looked up at his friend, "The things I said were cruel and only more cruelty was going to leave my lips. What am I becoming?"

That, Tony couldn't answer. Though this situation did remind him… "This guy we fought, Loki, had a staff that let him control anyone's mind that he tapped it with. He got Hawkeye that way and if it weren't for the arc reactor he would've got me too. But even out of his hand, if affected us. It fed off us and fueled arguments until suddenly I was calling the one person I wanted to befriend a lab experiment and he implied that I was nothing," he revealed, "This sounds a lot like that. I think the Ring is affecting everyone, Boromir. You're both rational people and I think the Ring is using your insecurities and fears against you to try and accomplish its own ends."

The implication made Boromir tense up even more. "I need some time to myself," he muttered and took off to the other side of the tiny island they were camped on.

Trying to pretend that didn't hurt, Tony went over to the rest of the group and plopped down next to the resident Dwarf. Over the past few days, and the reveal that all he wanted from Galadriel was one of her hairs, a friendship had grown between him and their Elf that made sure one was never very far from the other. "Anything nice going on in your mind?" he asked hopefully.

"We were thinking of a competition when battle next comes, as to who can kill the most enemies," Legolas told him with a mischievous smirk, "Do you want to be included in this, Master Stark?" He looked like he hoped for it.

"Sure, why not?" Tony replied with a shrug. What could it hurt?

Overhearing them, Steve joined the group. "Did I hear a competition mentioned?" he asked, all bright eyed like a golden retriever.

"The Elvish princeling thinks he can kill more orcs than a stout Dwarf." Gimli laughed at what he thought to be the absurdity of it.

"A kill competition," Tony added, "It's every Dwarf, Elf and Man for himself. And super soldier, if you join in." He hoped not, or else he knew he was going to lose badly. On the bright side, so would everyone else.

The smirk on Steve's normally affable face said everything. "I'd be honored, if I'm back to normal by then," he accepted.

Tony groaned and slapped his own forehead with a dirty palm. "Now we've done it, we're all going to lose," he complained at Gimli.

The Dwarf scowled at the implication. "I'll have no little one outscoring me," he growled with an evil look at the blondes in the competition.

"If you manage to keep up, I'll commend you," Steve returned. He obviously meant it, but thought it would never happen.

Knowing what the super soldier was capable of, Tony didn't doubt it. "If the armor is up and functional by then, you might have some stiff competition," he teased, fingering the lines of the metal lovingly. Even out of the armor he was Iron Man, but it didn't keep him from feeling naked with just a sword.

"If," Steve taunted, just like the Spartans.

"If," Tony agreed. Either way he was sure he would be able to keep up with the Elf and Dwarf. Those stupid fencing lessons his dad insisted on when he was younger were about to come in handy.

Despite his agreement with the Elf, Dwarf, and super soldier, the night was tense.

* * *

The moment Eowyn could, she took a look at the maps of Rohan and where enemy positions had been sighted. She could only plan if she knew what might happen.

"There have been orcs sighted on the Westmarches and roaming near Isengard. Wildmen attack villages sporadically in this area," Hama murmured, gesturing to where he meant. The only clear spaces were the swathe that Eomer must have cut through the northern area, and the land immediately around Edoras.

"Where are our riders?" Eowyn requested, analyzing the map as closely as she could.

"Theodred's company was sent to dispatch a group of orcs near here," Hama began listing out, pointing at an area that he had been mostly clear.

"There? Why there?" James unexpectedly asked.

Now that Eowyn looked at it, there was no reason for the orcs to be there. No towns or villages to destroy, and too near to Helm's Deep to be worth it. The only things there were a series of cliffs and caves and hidden crevices….

"A trap," Hama said, seeming to just realize the same thing. His face went white as he stared at the parchment.

"They need to be warned," Eowyn said, horrified, "Do we have another rider to send out?"

"Not that we can spare from the defense," Hama answered.

Unexpectedly, James spoke up. "I can go," he said, eyes roving the map feverishly, "Show me again where they are."

Hama pointed at the position. "It's two days' ride away," he cautioned, "You may not be able to make it in time." He peered up at the taller man, doubtful.

"Give me a pack with some food and water," James told them, "I can get there in a day, maybe a day and a half if I run into trouble." There was no boast in his voice, just certainty.

"Get him a pack and several days' supplies," Eowyn ordered immediately.

As a servant scurried away to do so, Hama eyed them keenly. "Is it wise to send your bodyguard away at a time like that?" he questioned reasonably.

The only answer Eowyn could give was grim. "If I don't, worse will happen," she said.

The answer was accepted and Hama continued to outline their current status in the fields. They were surrounded by roving bands of Wildmen and orcs, and their forces were too small and spread too thin with Eomer's banishment. It was an abominable situation.

"Thank you, Hama. After James leaves, we will see to the defense of Edoras," Eowyn said more calmly than she felt.

The captain of the guard nodded and took the map away to prepare an adequate defense.

Alone as they could be in the middle of the Meduseld, Eowyn whispered to her friend. "Are you certain you can do this? It was just a few days ago that you were broken and remade," she asked with concern as she looked him over. There was no trace of injury, but he was a master at hiding everything.

"I can do it," James replied seriously. He put a hand over hers at an attempt at comforting her, eyes bright as he considered the mission.

"Bring him back. And both of you be safe," Eowyn instructed sternly. If anything happened to them, she would be distraught.

"Mission accepted," James said with a hint of a smile.

The pack was brought and Eowyn led the way out of the hall. "You remember the way?" she asked to be sure. It wouldn't do for her messenger to get lost.

At first they headed for the stables, but James changed course when he realized that. "I can go faster without a horse," he reminded her. Instead he walked down the hill toward the gates, adjusting his pack and checking his weapons as he went.

Eowyn called for the gates to be opened.

A hand grabbed hers and James brought it up to his face to kiss the back of the knuckles. His grin would have been heart stopping if he were anyone else. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back," he told her mischievously.

"Who do you think I am? Steve?" Eowyn teased back.

With a last smile over his shoulder, James took off. True to his word, he was faster than Eowyn had ever seen a man run before, possibly faster than Windfola had ever been pushed. Within minutes he was simply a black blur among the grey hills.

All she could do was hope that James made it in time.


	7. Search and Rescue

Thank you to **Kae Richa** for the review. I'm American and I still tear up over Churchill. Don't worry, there will be Stark Spangled Soldier... Whenever the plot allows. Which I'm not sure of the time of.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Search and Rescue**

 _"It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."_

 _― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland_

The end of the trip down the river was more than welcome. Between the anxiety and tension in the air, and the feeling of being watched, Steve couldn't wait to wave goodbye to the Anduin.

Before that could happen, they had to wait out the daylight on the west bank. "We cross the lake at nightfall," Aragorn told them, "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." As far as Steve knew, it was a decent plan. The only other option that he had seen on the maps was to march in the front gate and this wasn't enough like World War II for that to be a valid idea.

As Gimli, then Legolas, argued the route with Aragorn, Steve took the opportunity to draw some more. The rocking of the boat had kept him from sketching so now he was working double time to try and capture the images caught in his mind's eye before they faded away. The super-recall he had as a super soldier would have been handy right now.

Right now he was trying to get the Argonath. Something about the shading just felt off… He hadn't had nearly this much trouble with the two trees and gateway on the far side of the mines.

From what Steve heard as he sketched, the chosen route seemed highly unpleasant. "An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks," and then, "Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see," did not seem like ideal roads. Pippin was so horrified by the thought that he forgot to chew his food.

Even worse was Legolas's insistence that they leave now. It reminded Steve of when Gandalf was so insistent that they try every available avenue before they go through Moria. "It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. Something draws near… I can feel it," the Elf told their fearless leader bluntly.

"I think we should listen to Legolas," Tony unexpectedly voted.

The debate was temporarily halted with surprise.

"He's the closest thing to early warning radar we have now," the inventor explained. Without any context for the natives, he wandered back to where he sat with Gimli.

To those who understood, it was good phrasing. As Steve struggled to explain what radar was, he thought that Tony had the right of it. Legolas's feelings provided better results than anything else they had available to them.

"Where's Mr Frodo?" Sam unexpectedly asked.

All conversation ended as the Fellowship checked for their most valuable member. There was no sign of him at the camp site.

Steve swore when he noticed that there was no sign of Boromir either. Only his shield was left, leaning against a tree.

It said something that Tony didn't even try teasing him about his slip up. "The minute I think he's doing okay again he goes and pulls this bullshit," he complained at the round leather-on-steel shield.

"Tony, you and Bucky go after Boromir. Hobbits, stay here in case either of them comes back. The rest of us look for Frodo," Steve ordered. He prayed that they weren't too late.

As he crashed through the underbrush in search of a hobbit, he hoped that nothing happened to either of their missing party members. Boromir had seemed to be in better spirits since Lothlorien, not counting his argument with Aragorn a few nights ago. So what happened?

It would be mortifying if they had panicked over two coincidentally timed trips to the bathroom, Steve mused. Despite that his lungs were already starting to seize up, he grinned. Generally life wasn't that lazy, but one could wish.

Even he could hear the clash of metal on metal not ten minutes later. There was a battle going on and Steve cursed himself when he realized he didn't even have his shield with him.

He didn't make it back to camp to get his shield.

Instead of taking his head off with one of the wicked looking swords they carried, the orcs (which didn't look like any of the orcs he had seen so far) instead came up behind him and scooped him up. Their aim wasn't to kill, it was to take prisoners. When Steve remembered that orcs ate anything and everything, including human flesh, that idea became even more horrifying.

Somehow it got worse. The orcs that carried him, squirming and kicking and shouting for help as he was, ran into the clearing where Boromir and Bucky defended Merry and Pippin. Why were the hobbits even there? They should have been at the boats!

There was no time to be angry at their disobedience. Instead, Steve was consumed with fear when he saw an arrow strike Bucky. "No, no! Stop it! No!" he shouted.

All it did was distract his friends. Boromir's head snapped up just in time to get hit on the crown and go down. Bucky was hit with a second arrow, taking it for his fallen friend, and collapsed to his knees gasping for breath. Neither of them got up.

Brave Merry and Pippin tried to help, and Steve tried to escape, but the arms of the orc carrying him were like iron. Instead of doing any good, they were all hauled away with ease.

On his knees with pain, Bucky glared up at the orc that aimed its bow at his face. Even as it snarled at him nastily, he told it to shove that arrow up its ass.

Tears nearly blinded Steve as he realized that he was watching Bucky die yet again. Were the first two times not enough? He watched his best friend until they were out of sight.

For hours and hours the orcs ran without stop, carrying Steve, Merry and Pippin to some unknown and most definitely unfriendly destination. The human was only saved from bruising by the rough armor by his Captain America chestpiece and even then, he still got sore. Asthma attacks came and went from the mere stench of these things, like pork that had been boiled and then left alone to rot in the water for several days, with some dirt and old socks added for good measure.

When he looked, Merry was in an even worse state. Somewhere he had gotten a large cut on his forehead that drove him to unconsciousness. At least he wasn't aware for this nightmare, Steve thought, and left him alone.

On the other hand, Pippin was terrified. Between the state of his cousin and the situation they were in, he had every right to be. "Steve! Do you know where they're taking us?" he called.

Now that he had the time to look, Steve noticed the white hand printed on the helmets and chest plates of these things. Back in Lothlorien he had been brought up to date on current events and educated in the signs and symbols of Middle Earth, as well as given a run-down of the history relevant to the quest for Mount Doom. "The white hand is Saruman's symbol!" he yelled back in as strong a voice as he could. It still sounded weak and choked to him.

Pippin's face went white and he looked distinctly queasy as he pleaded with Merry to wake.

The orcs ran on and on, through the day and night. Another day and night passed, then a third. If they kept going like this the captives wouldn't survive the journey, Steve thought grimly. While moldy bread and putrid water had been stuffed down their throats every now and again, it wasn't enough even for him to survive on for long. Never mind two hobbits.

The only change was when the orcs ran across a group of smaller orcs in some rocks. A hunchbacked one seemed to be in charge, snarling, "You're late. Our master grows impatient. He wants the Shire-rats and off-worlders now."

Steve thanked God that he was the only one of his friends from Earth that had been captured. Not that they would have been able to catch Tony if they set their minds to it. The memory of Bucky with two arrows sticking out of him was pushed roughly away; he couldn't break down and feel the loss yet. It wasn't safe.

"We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We slew the great warriors! We captured these rats! We don't take orders from orc-maggots!" sneered the lead orc, "Saruman will have his prize. We will deliver them."

For a moment it looked like a fight would erupt. Part of Steve hoped it would, then maybe he and the hobbits would get a chance to escape.

Instead, Pippin opened his big mouth and distracted them. He had been trying to wake Merry, without success. "My friend is sick. He needs water. Please!" he begged.

"Sick is he? Give him some medicine, boys!" the lead Uruk cackled gutturally.

Another poured some kind of sticky red liquid down Merry's throat that made him gag. Barely aware, he tried to move away but the Uruk wasn't having it.

"Can't take his draught!" The entire group laughed cruelly at the hobbit's plight.

"Stop it!" Steve shouted at them.

"Leave him alone!" Pippin insisted fiercely.

"Why? You want some?" threatened the Uruk leader.

The human and hobbits stayed quiet. No, they didn't want any of that. But Steve scowled at the monsters and wished he had his Colt with him.

"What're you looking at me like that for?" sneered the Uruk leader at the captain.

"I don't like bullies," Steve stated coldly. It was the most core part of him, the whole reason Dr Erskine chose him to be Captain America. Even though he couldn't actually do anything about what was happening, he refused to stay silent.

The lead Uruk cuffed him on the head and its nails tore into the back of his neck. When he yelped, it let out a bark that must have been laughter. These were the worst bullies Steve had ever come across, including HYDRA. At least they and the Nazis wanted to exterminate, these things just liked to torment.

"It was all an act," Merry was lying to his cousin with a loopy smile when Steve was able to focus on something besides how infected those cuts would soon be.

"An act?" Pippin questioned incredulously.

"See? Fooled you too," Merry replied, laughing weakly.

"You've got a concussion. Don't fall back asleep," Steve instructed sternly.

"I'll be fine," Merry told them. He didn't sound like even he believed it.

That was when one of the Uruks took a deep sniff. He must have been their version of Legolas, because the leader questioned, "What is it? What do you smell?"

"Man-flesh," it growled back, "And Dwarf and Elf and something nasty." What could that last thing possibly be?

The idea of rescue made Steve's heart beat faster. What he wouldn't give to see his friends again, racing to save them from Saruman.

Obviously thinking similar, Pippin whispered, "Aragorn." He looked unable to believe their luck, eyes wide with shock.

"They've picked up our trail! Let's go!" the lead Uruk shouted, and the running began again.

Pippin was biting onto something at his collar and when he tilted his head up, something green flashed between his lips. He spat it out onto the ground as discreetly as he could. A signal that they were there and alive.

While he couldn't actually say anything and give it away, Steve grinned at the hobbit. Maybe there was hope after all.

* * *

The battle was ridiculously hard, even considering that they had the future Winter Soldier and most of the original Fellowship. These things- Legolas called them Uruk-hai, were big, brutal and nasty, with half-decent plate armor and a mean sword swing.

It was technique that got Tony through this battle. One swing after another he would block, slice, parry, stab, dodge, until he managed to get a vulnerable part. These damn things didn't seem to feel pain; only killing it outright would get it out of the way. When Boromir began blowing his horn, the situation only grew more desperate as the whole battle gravitated his way, good and bad.

Tony cursed not having enough charge in the armor to use even his gauntlets. It could only unfold, and that wouldn't be useful until there was a thunderstorm he could channel. The sword Galadriel gave him was coming in handy sooner than he hoped.

When he finally got to where Boromir's horn had been blowing before, it felt like he was being waterboarded again. Only locking his legs kept him from falling.

The whole clearing was full of dead Uruks, some with holes in their armor and others stabbed or pummeled to death. But in the middle of it, Boromir laid motionlessly on his back and Bucky had a hand wrapped around one of the two arrows sticking out of him, which Aragorn was trying to shove away.

Only when Gimli and Legolas arrived did he regain some sense and stumble further into the clearing. "Heya Old Man Winter," Tony greeted the sniper with a grin he didn't really feel, "I see you're a little stuck."

The snort Bucky gave made him wince when his chest moved. "Right between a rock and a hard place," he said sarcastically. It wasn't just a phrase either, he was leaning on the stone bridge and Aragorn was muscular enough to qualify as a hard place.

If their laughter was stilted and more than a little hysterical, no one commented. The understanding and almost pitying look Aragorn gave them made Tony's teeth grind together.

"What's the prognosis, Doc?" Bucky asked with a smile that said he already knew.

"If we were not in the wild, I would give you a chance at surviving," Aragorn replied honestly.

It felt like he was getting a victory hug from the Hulk, but without any of the euphoria. "There's nothing you can do?" Tony asked sharply.

"I can take the arrows out, but there is little to be done. One hit his liver," Aragorn denied with a grimace, "Your choice, Bucky." He wrapped his own hand around one of the shafts, already knowing what the man would choose.

"Take them out," Bucky immediately said, "I always wanted to be a good looking corpse." Of course he would face death with a smartass remark. There was a reason they got along, and Tony was trying to not fall in love with him.

"Three, two, one," Aragorn counted down before he pushed the arrow in his shoulder straight through.

The strangled shout Bucky gave showed exactly how painful it was. Anyone else would have been shrieking and struggling. When the wooden shaft was broken and both halves pulled out he panted harshly, face ashen.

When Aragorn pulled out the arrow in his liver, he didn't count down. Instead he just yanked it out quickly to get it over with, while Bucky was distracted with his shoulder.

Except that something wasn't right. Instead of just those two areas, Bucky's whole body seemed to be in pain. He shook and sweated and bit a hole straight through his lower lip, eyes rolled back.

Then there was a wet snap. And another. And a third. It just kept going, every single one of Bucky's bones breaking and healing in under a minute. Rips accompanied the later ones, muscles bulging under tearing and healing skin. Teeth broke and healed, organs visibly liquified and reconstituted themselves, and all the while old injuries flashed by. More of his blood was spilled in the maybe three minutes the deluge lasted than the rest of their time in Middle Earth.

As it happened, Legolas watched with wide eyes and Gimli swore in his own language. Aragorn had hurried forward, but he seemed afraid to touch and possibly hurt Bucky even more.

The worst part was the screams. More than the snaps or crunches or shredding noises, Tony hated to hear his friend scream like he was on fire. From what he understood of the super soldier serum, everything that took forty weeks in the womb was being done within minutes to a grown, fully aware man. It took everything he had not to puke as he watched the torment in front of his eyes.

Logically, it only lasted minutes. It felt like centuries before Bucky fell still, panting harshly. His hands shook violently as he felt around on his abdomen and his voice cracked when he laughed.

"Bucky?" Aragorn's voice was cautious and concerned, unsure of exactly what happened.

The man who had previously been dying pushed himself to his hands and knees. The only reason he didn't get to his feet was because Legolas held him where he was. "Never thought those experiments would come in handy," Bucky mumbled.

All confusion cleared up and Tony felt like smacking himself. Of course the Serum would come back, and at the best time possible. It was a part of Bucky now, like Thor's lightning powers or-

Shit, was Steve going through that right now?

There was a groan and Boromir rolled over onto his side. "What's happening? Why were you screaming?" he slurred out at Bucky. It must have woken him.

"Don't worry, I'm fine now," the sniper said with a grin. He shoved Legolas's hand off his shoulder and wobbled to his feet, miraculously steady after a few seconds.

"What about you, Horatio?" Tony teased. When he inspected the Gondorian's head he found a bruise and cut, but no overt swelling or cracks in the skull. While he wasn't a doctor, he knew more about head trauma than most. Job hazard, he always joked.

"My head feels split in half, but that is not the concern," Boromir denied, eyes gaining clarity as he spoke, until they were as sharp as always, "They took the little ones, they took Merry and Pippin."

How much worse could today get?

"I saw Steve get carried off too," Bucky added.

Tony face-palmed. Shouldn't have tempted fate. "Did anyone at least find Frodo?" he demanded.

Shame radiated out from Boromir at the mention of the hobbit.

"I let Frodo go," Aragorn said quietly.

"Then you did what I could not," Boromir said, voice choked like he was about to cry, "I tried to take the Ring from him." That was worse news than any of them expected.

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn told him.

A weight seemed to lift off of the entire Fellowship. Even Bucky and Tony sighed with relief. It was the whole reason for their conflicts, and now it was gone.

Still, Boromir was miserable. "Forgive me, I did not see it. I failed you all," he said, head hanging.

"From what I heard, that thing broke stronger people than you," Tony told him seriously, "If it ever tried coming after me instead of making my head hurt, I wouldn't've had a snowball's chance in hell." He never was good at resisting temptation.

"You have fought bravely," Aragorn commented with a glimmer of a smile, "However, our journey is not over by half! We will need your help!"

Tony wondered what Steve would say if he knew about them setting out to rescue him. Probably be stupidly grateful because he was a realist and then irritated at himself. And embarrassed because Legolas really did think of him as a child to be protected, regardless of his war experiences.

With some assistance, Boromir wobbled to his feet. The man was damn heavy, Tony thought as he was leaned on.

"You and Tony head to Rohan. We will need to know the politics in the world of Men, and you are known to the Rohirrim," Aragorn instructed, not accepting any argument, "We will meet you at Edoras when our task is accomplished." He cleaned and stored his weapons as he talked, finishing as he shoved a dagger into his belt.

"And our task?" Gimli questioned.

"Our task is to rescue Merry, Pippin, and Steve," Aragorn declared.

Where before Legolas and Gimli looked concerned as to what would happen now, determination was in their faces. "We will not abandon them," the Elf declared softly.

"Is it me, or does this sound an awful lot like busy work for us?" Tony asked sarcastically.

"We need you there," Aragorn assured him.

Boromir nodded, and let out a low moan when it made his head hurt. "We will gather what information we can," he agreed.

"Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let us hunt some orc," Aragorn said with a grim smile and took off further into the forest.

"Yes!" The roar Gimli gave was approving as he bounded after the man.

With a cheeky smile and a wish for them to, "Fare well on your Quest, and hopefully we shall do the same!" Legolas followed.

Less hurried, Bucky put a hand on Boromir's shoulder and told him, "Don't let this one corrupt you too bad while we're gone."

The smile Boromir gave in return was weak but real. "Nay, I am done with corruption," he answered with a sidelong glance back east.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky went to Tony next. "Take care of yourself, Steve would kill us if anything happened to you the minute we let you out of our sight," he said. There was something sad in his eyes as he spoke.

"Please," Tony sneered, "Nothing in our world succeeded in taking me out, how would anything in this one?" It was a blatant front; now that the suit didn't have juice, he was just as much a normal, squishy fleshbag as anyone else.

The look Bucky gave him was knowing. "Sure thing, Iron Man. Sure thing," he replied and held his arms open for a hug.

When Tony stepped into the other man's hold, he was sure his arc reactor was about to fail. It was for just like when he carried Steve up those stairs in Moria or every time he collapsed on top of the man during movie nights back home. Shit. He couldn't help burying his face in the other man's neck and breathing him in, tea and something earthy.

The arms around him wrapped tighter and a hand trailed up and down his back soothingly before Bucky let him go. It was slow and reluctant, and there was something intense in his eyes...

"You'd best get going. The others are far ahead already," Boromir cut in.

It was like their moment never happened. "Yes sir," Bucky said cheerfully. He gave a little salute before he started running, rifle bouncing on his shoulder. Within seconds he was out of sight, maybe a little slower than Steve in his normal form. Still impressive, for someone who just got shot twice.

For a moment, Tony and Boromir stood in the clearing just watching where their friends had disappeared. It finally sunk in right about then that things had changed. It was the end of an era. Frodo and the reason for the Fellowship were gone. But they had their own task to do.

"Next time you see them, tell them," Boromir advised nonsensically.

"What?" Tony asked, blinking in confusion.

When Boromir actually rolled his eyes, the other man actually had to hold back a cheer. The Fellowship were being converted, one person at a time. "Steve and Bucky," he clarified, "You should tell them that you're in love with them." He made it sound so simple.

"Haha, yeah, right," Tony laughed nervously, and began tramping back toward the boats, "Let's pack up some stuff and we can head out." He was _not_ discussing this right now.

Apparently he wasn't getting a choice. "Why will you not?" Boromir asked, sounding honestly bewildered.

The look Tony gave him wasn't encouraging. "I can already see it: 'While I'm flattered by your interest, Tony, and I'm sure Bucky is too, we're together and there's no room for a third man. How would we all even fondue anyways?' It's either that or they're still in love with other people, and I'm not going to deal with being in somebody else's shadow," he said acerbically, mocking Steve's niceness ruthlessly. Cap was too nice for his own good, and he was sure that this situation wouldn't change that. It would only hurt more because then they'd have to deal with each other on a regular basis and it would be awkward for everyone.

"I never thought I would see the day that something scared Tony Stark into inaction," Boromir said dryly. It was a dare if Tony had ever heard one, designed to get him to say something rash.

"Yeah, and you would be too, if you were faced with telling… them, that," Tony challenged with a manic wave of his arm in the direction their friends had taken off in.

Boromir's eyes went wide and Tony knew he was fucked. The man was incredibly perceptive sometimes. "You feel unworthy of them," he stated.

It was impossible to lie. Tony tried anyways. "Um, I'm the billionaire genius playboy philanthropist," he replied with a snort.

Obviously, Boromir didn't believe a word. The shock turned to sadness and Tony hated every second of it. However, he said nothing more about it as they gathered their packs and weapons. The remaining boats were pushed over the falls with most of the unused supplies and Boromir's broken horn.

"How far do you think it is to this Edoras place?" Tony asked as they too began tramping through the woods.

"I would say a hundred miles, as the crow flies," Boromir answered after a few seconds' reckoning.

"We better start now if we're going to be there in time," Tony said as he adjusted his pack. It was awkward, with suit strapped on at the bottom and no chest or hip straps to help bear the weight.

Thankfully, his stupid little crushes weren't mentioned for a very long time.

* * *

Goddamn could these people run, Bucky thought, impressed. Nothing like Steve, or even him again, but faster and longer than most anyone he had seen.

Aragorn and Legolas took the lead, the one who knew the land and their living radar system. If anything changed, they would be the first to know and adjust the route accordingly.

In the back, Bucky and Gimli ran. How the Dwarf was managing, considering that all his equipment was so heavy, he wasn't about to ask. It was amazing that they were still in sight of their friends. "Breathe, just keep breathing," Gimli would sometimes remind himself between pants.

Every time, Bucky would give the Dwarf a grin and a teasing comment about letting an Elf outrun him. It never failed to give them a short burst of speed.

One of those times, Bucky was busy laughing at the generally coordinated Aragorn tripping and falling on his face. Man, he must have been tired.

That being said, they were on their second evening of running almost without rest.

Even Bucky was feeling a little winded by now. The pace wasn't nearly as fast as he could go, but the length of this trip was stretching his limits anyway.

For some reason Aragorn stumbled to a halt. It wasn't to check the ground for vibrations or find a better vantage point this time, instead circling to a stop.

More gracefully Legolas did similar.

Curious, Bucky slowed to join them. "What's going on?" he asked, worried. If they lost the trail, he'd bite their fucking heads off.

"It will be a moonless night tonight," Aragorn answered with a frustrated look up at the sky, "I think it unwise to go on without light, in case we lose the trail." He obviously didn't want to stop.

None of them did, Bucky thought with a look at the others. They all looked similarly irritated, but the reasoning behind it was solid. "We should get some rest while we can," he suggested, ever the soldier.

Camp was made and Legolas given the first watch. Somehow the Elf had been resting his mind as they ran and was perfectly capable of staying awake until Aragorn got up. Bucky volunteered for third, citing his enhancements allowing him to need only about four or five hours of sleep and able to run well enough on less.

Okay, so it wasn't really a camp, Bucky thought as he curled up on the hard ground. There was no fire and the only blanket-like things they had were their cloaks. Food was limited to the lembas in their pockets and water to the one waterskin that each had been carrying when they left Amon Hen.

It was better than continuing to run, at least. The idea of losing the trail because they were too tired to see it, or they missed a sign in the dark, was horrifying. Anything that prolonged the amount of time Steve and the hobbits had to spend with the Uruk-hai was unacceptable.

Bucky just hoped they were still alive to be rescued.


	8. Timing

Thank you to the reviewers, **Kae Richa** , **silmarlfan1** , and **rachel**. You're awesome, especially when you see something I missed and correct me! (Meaning you, silmarlfan1. I hope this too-late correction is acceptable.)

 **IMPORTANT NOTE** : Since I'm doing Camp NaNo this month, I'm going to pause in my updates. After the month is over I'll continue on my normal schedule, but for right now it's time to take a pause and focus on this project. Thanks for your understanding.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Timing**

 _"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."_

 _― Robert A. Heinlein_

Sometimes, Steve wondered if the ice had driven him insane. This was one of those times.

When the Uruks were being especially nasty to Merry and Pippin he had stepped in, and now he was being held down with a foot on his tied wrists. Captain America armor and shirt pulled up to his shoulders, he knew what was coming. With a deep, shuddering breath, he squeezed his eyes shut to prepare himself.

The whip was like fire on his back. It forced a gasp from Steve's lips but he bit them to keep any further sound in. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Only the kind of will that allowed him to tell the scientists to keep going during Project Rebirth made him capable of taking this. The memory of that pain helped, reminding him that he had taken much worse. Whips and claws couldn't even try to compare to being broken open and remade.

That couldn't stop his body from tensing, tears from leaking out of his eyes against his will. After the fourth strike he was able to find a centered place where he felt separate from his body, mind floating away. "Steve Rogers, Captain America, Avengers Initiative, Steve Rogers, Captain America, Avengers Initiative, Steve Rogers, Captain America…" he heard his own voice reciting over and over. It was a familiar mantra, if not the same words as in his army days: name, rank, number.

It could have been hours before the whipping stopped; Steve didn't notice until his shirt and armor were getting shoved down. They rubbed painfully against his torn flesh and he had to take deep gasps of air just to keep from passing out. When he was hauled over an Uruk's back, the motion repeatedly rubbed the fabric of his clothing into his wounds and he lost the battle.

Waking was just as painful an experience as the initial whipping. It was rough and jarring, getting thrown carelessly to the ground.

"We ain't going no further 'til we've had a breather!" shouted one of the orcs, bent in half and panting harshly.

The lead Uruk snorted with contempt. "Get a fire going!" he ordered.

Was it Steve's imagination, or did the trees actually move and groan when struck by the axes and swords? He was probably hallucinating, he decided. Between the whipping, the lack of sustenance, and the shadows of the night, it was almost inevitable. When his neck burned at the slightest movement, he added infection to the list.

"Steve? Steve? Are you alright?" Pippin asked anxiously. He was crawling toward the human on his belly, trying to not be seen.

"I think I'll live," Steve groaned out. He wasn't sure whether or not he was lying. Instead of drawing attention to himself he chuckled and pointed at where he was sure he saw a tree limb move by itself.

"This reminds me of the Old Forest near Buckland," Merry said in a low voice, joining them, "They say queer things about it. Trees that can talk, even move." He seemed in awe of the possibility as he gazed up at the woody canopy.

Okay, so maybe Steve wasn't hallucinating. He was on the verge of passing out again, though. It was more than he could take, combined with everything else.

An argument started up between the orcs and the Uruks over the food, or lack of. It sounded pretty nasty, and only got worse when a pale orc with a pointy face pointed at them and said, "What about them? They're fresh." The way he licked his lips sent a shiver down Steve's abused spine.

"They are not for eating!" the lead Uruk snarled. For once, Steve was grateful for its existence. A little.

The argument went a little weird after that, with one of the orcs saying that they didn't need their legs and looked so tasty. It was only then that they figured out what they had been captured for.

"He said alive and _unspoiled_. Says they're carrying something he needs for the war, some kind of Elvish weapon," the lead Uruk stated, with a delicate shudder at the mention of Elves.

"They think we have the Ring," Pippin whispered, terrified.

"And once they find out we don't, we're dead," Merry replied.

"But what do they want Steve for?" Pippin asked, curious and not wanting to know at the same time.

"Super soldier, remember?" Steve put in through gritted teeth. Like hell he would let an evil wizard try to replicate the Serum. He would jump into a volcano first.

The way the hobbits' faces went white, they suddenly understood. "We need to get you out of here," Merry said seriously.

An orc came up behind them, sword raised. "I just want a little bit, just a mouthful," it insisted with a wild gleam in its eyes. Its head was sliced off seconds later.

"Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" the lead Uruk sneered.

The orcs and Uruks shoved their captives away in desperation to get at the flesh of the fallen. It made Steve more than a little nauseous on principle alone. When intestines started flying, his stomach gave in and he began coughing up bile.

Merry and Pippin saw the opportunity to escape, and they took it. As quickly and quietly as they could they crawled toward the trees and hopefully safety.

The orc who demanded a breather stalked toward them. Before Steve could even call out a warning he was on them, whispering terrible things into their faces. "No one's going to save you now!" it growled and raised its sword.

"No!" Steve coughed out.

A spear came out of nowhere and impaled the orc.

Horses whinnied and battle cries ripped through the night as a group of riders galloped out of the darkness and came down upon the orcs and Uruks like Thor's hammer. The slaughter was almost as efficient and brutal, heads lobbed and arrows shot with expert aim.

"Steve, come on, we need to go," Merry hissed. He and his cousin tried to pull the man along but it was slow going and they were nearly trampled. When had their bonds been cut?

"Leave me," Steve told them, and when they protested he gave them his best Captain America glare and voice, "Get the hell out of here! Go! I'll just slow you down!"

It was obvious how reluctant they were to do so, but the hobbits followed his order. They kept looking over their shoulders until they disappeared into the treeline.

Most of the weight on Steve's narrow shoulders disappeared and he sagged to the ground. The past three days he had been doing little but trying to plan an escape and looking out for his friends. Now that they were at least marginally safe, he was able to focus on himself and his own survival.

Which from the looks of things would either be assured or ended in the next five minutes. The riders were mopping up the stragglers now, dismounting to make sure their enemies were actually dead.

Steve hoped that this time the enemy of his enemy really was his friend.

* * *

Eomer had been in many battles, but this one was unique. There was no going back to Edoras for more supplies or to deliver injured riders to the medical staff, no one to report to. They were alone out here with only their wits and weapons to aid them.

"Lord Eomer!" one of the older riders called. The urgency in his voice was intriguing.

Picking his way across the battlefield (more like a slaughter ground) Eomer felt his face go white when he saw what the rider had found. A small form was curled into a tight ball, clothed entirely in blue but for a girdle of red and white stripes; short golden hair glinted in the light of the fire. When he got closer, he was able to tell more about the boy, namely that he couldn't have been much older than thirteen and was injured. Deep claw marks marred the back of his neck and looked red and inflamed even from feet away.

"Aldor! The Uruks had a captive!" Eomer called to their healer. He dismissed the rider who found the boy, instead taking off his own helm.

"The nick of time mean anything to you?" The captive must have been older than he looked, his voice was too deep for a boy in the midst of puberty. His accent was a shock, the exact same as James's.

Though Eomer was unfamiliar with the phrase, he understood the sentiment. "I am Eomer," he introduced himself, censoring his instinct to include that he was the Third Marshall of the Riddermark. It was no longer true.

"Steve Rogers," the boy returned with a grimace as he rubbed his wrists. He tried to sit up, but his arms shook too badly to support him.

Instead of letting the boy fall, Eomer supported the slight shoulders and gently lowered him back onto his side. Steve was radiating an unnatural heat, he had a fever.

Aldor got there then, medicine bag slung over his shoulder. He let out a curse as he saw what was happening, and dropped to his knees. "I need to examine him," he told Eomer.

For all that he was ill and in pain, the boy seemed remarkably aware of what was going on around him and willingly took his strange cloth armor and shirt off. "My friends escaped into the forest. Can you find them?" He seemed to hopeful and relieved, it was a shame to ruin that.

"We do not go into the forest," Eomer stated, not accepting any arguments. Instead he asked, "Are you from a place called New York?" His lips wrapped carefully around the unfamiliar place-name, not entirely sure he got it right.

The shock the boy displayed was almost comical. "Yes, how did you know?" he questioned. He barely even flinched when Aldor began treating his back.

Hope flared up in Eomer's heart at finally finding someone who James may be able to connect with. It was tempered by the knowledge of what he man went through. He would have to tread carefully here. "My sister found a man who said he was from there. He was greatly injured," he relayed.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, hope blazing brightly in his blue eyes. He barely seemed to notice when Aldor applied a concoction to his back that Eomer remembered stung like bees.

Eomer wished that he did not have to break the hope in those innocent eyes. "He said that his name is James," he said.

Instead of wilting, Steve's face brightened. "James Buchanan Barnes?" he asked eagerly, "Did he have a metal arm?"

Taken aback, Eomer answered, "Yes. How do you know him?" He knew he was getting protective, but could not stop himself. The man he knew had suffered too much already, he needed no false friends or reminders of his torment.

"We grew up together and when our folks died we looked after each other. Me and Bucky against the world. Until..." Steve's face faltered at a painful memory, then he shook his head. "Is he safe?" he asked, concerned. There was no lie in his words, but there were hidden things.

"More than you were," Eomer answered, unable to say for sure. Edoras had become a dangerous place with the Wormtongue puppeteering his uncle.

The concern only amplified. Steve was bade to hold his breath while Aldor wrapped his back, unable to stitch it closed with the amount of skin that had been lost. The moment he was allowed to breathe again, he asked, "What do you mean? Is he in danger?" He looked ready to ride off to James's rescue the second he heard it was so.

"A man we call Wormtongue has taken over the court, whispering lies in the king's ears and forever stalking my sister's footsteps," Eomer recalled bitterly, "We assigned James as her bodyguard and last I saw them, he took his job very seriously. He was sleeping in front of her door when I was banished. I do not know what has happened since, but it is guaranteed that Wormtongue has tried to get rid of him." It was the only course of action he could foresee and had been troubling Eomer greatly since he was forced to leave. For Eowyn's sake and James's own.

Steve's face grew grave for a moment, but the corners of his mouth tilted up in part of a smile. "If it were anyone else, I'd be more worried," he said, "He's the most stubborn jerk I know. If anyone can handle this Wormtongue guy, it's him." When Aldor started cleaning the wounds on the back of his neck he tensed and gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed closed in pain as they were lanced and then carefully stitched closed.

In the lull, Eomer debated to himself as to what he should do. Better treatment was needed for Steve's injuries than could be provided in the wilds. That was made difficult, if not impossible, by his banishment. So what could be done?  
"A rider needs to be sent back to Edoras with him," Aldor advised as he wrapped the slender neck in bandages.

"Send Ceorl. Tell him that in the morn, we ride north from here," Eomer instructed reluctantly. It was a terrible idea to separate out any one rider from the company, with Rohan being constantly invaded by orcs and Wildmen. But, one rider could sneak through the country where a host would be noticed, and Ceorl was a master at hiding in plain sight.

"You're sending me to Bucky?" Steve asked, agreeable with the idea.

"It is the best place nearby for you to get medical treatment," Eomer said while Aldor went to get the young rider.

"Not arguing," Steve said with a smile. It faltered into a frown.

"What is it?" Eomer questioned.

"He's been avoiding me for a year now. I don't think he wants to see me," Steve confided and with a self depreciating smile added, "I don't blame him for that. All I want is to know that he's alright." His tone was convinced, but the rest of his voice was longing, telling what he really meant. He wanted to make sure that James was happy, and he wanted to be there for it.

That, Eomer could not fault him for. Convinced that Steve was not about to hurt James, he allowed himself to relax. "Ceorl will take you to Edoras. It is a two day ride," he said with a grimace. He did not like to imagine the kind of pain that the motions of riding would cause, but it was the best option they had.

Steve shrugged his shoulders and stood up, legs wobbly. He caught himself on Eomer's arm, but after that looked remarkably steady.

Once he was no longer being used for balance, Eomer got to his own feet. Both standing, Steve was a head shorter.

At that moment, Ceorl walked up. "Lord Eomer?" he asked, boyish face curious.

"Take him to Edoras, make sure he gets to the healers. The rest of us ride north in the morn," Eomer instructed as they walked back to Ceorl's horse, "Be careful of his back, he was whipped."

The moment the words processed was obvious; Ceorl's face darkened. "Yes, sir," he answered, before turning to Steve. "Are you good at riding?"

Steve's face flushed even more red. "Um, actually I overbalanced in about five minutes last time I tried…" he replied.

There was no scorn in Ceorl's face or voice at this lack of such a basic skill, another reason he was chosen. "Then you shall ride in front and I will keep you seated," he proclaimed cheerfully, and lifted Steve onto his horse. He then leaped on with practiced ease and took off, riding hard into the night.

For a moment Eomer watched them, but they were soon swallowed up by the darkness. With regret, he began the process of carrying the corpses of fallen riders to a pile far from where the Uruks were being put. They would all have to be burned.

It was hard work, piling the bodies together and then setting fire to their flesh. By the time it was done, the sun was beginning to rise. They had stayed too long, Eomer realized, and frowned. They would have to move on and once they were well away from here they could rest.

Their task taken care of, they got back on the horses and began to ride. It looked like another day of being driven from their homeland, nothing happening that was cause for concern or to stop. Then he heard a clear voice ring out from an outcropping they had just passed. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

Startled, Eomer signaled for his unit to circle back around and encompass the strangers.

And they really were strangers, Eomer thought upon seeing them. "What news does an Elf, a Dwarf, and two Men have in the Riddermark?" he demanded, examining each of them.

There was the Elf, who looked just as fair as the old tales said, but his face was grim. The Dwarf was also as described, short and stout with very little of his face able to be seen past his helm and bushy red beard. The man who had called was tall and black haired, clothing repaired and stained until its original color could only be called dark.

Shock made Eomer's eyes go wide as he saw James. Why was he here? And why was he dressed so strangely, his hair cut short? "James, I thought you were in Edoras guarding my sister!" he exclaimed with horror, "Tell me not that something has happened to her!"

James only blinked in confusion. "Sorry man, I have no idea what you're talking about. You must have the wrong James," he answered in the correct voice and accent, "Most people call me Bucky." His words only made their encounter with Steve more confusing.

The dark haired man cut in, apparently their leader. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn," he introduced himself, "This is Bucky Barnes, Gimli son of Gloin," the Dwarf glared up with suspicious dark eyes, "and Legolas of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood," the Elf's eyes were startlingly intense, "We are friends of Rohan and of Theoden, your king." There was no lie in his eyes. He really did think of himself as a friend of the Rohirrim.

"Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin," Eomer replied, pulling off his helmet. He jumped from the saddle to be on level ground with the foreigners as a gesture of good will. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land. My company are those loyal to Rohan and for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, hooded and cloaked. And his spies ever slip past our nets." His eyes grew hard as he looked first at the Elf, then this strange James who was the same but not.

"We are no spies," Aragorn assured him hurriedly, "We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They've taken three of our friends captive." Were these friends of Steve's?

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night," Eomer answered part of the question, gesturing to the plume of smoke from the edge of the forest, "They were well armed and numerous. You were running toward your deaths." Looking at the small company before him, Eomer doubted that they would have lasted through the battle that would have followed.

"But there were two hobbits, did you see two hobbits with them?" the Dwarf questioned anxiously.

"Or a skinny guy in red, white and blue? Stubborn punk that answers to Steve?" added Bucky hopefully.

"We recovered Steve Rogers and sent him to Edoras with a rider for medical treatment. He was badly injured," Eomer answered, "He said that his friends had escaped into Fangorn Forest. Beware that place if you should choose to look, it is evil." The stories ever warned against the place, and only with his full company had Eomer felt any measure of safety in coming that near to it.

The strangers' shoulders all relaxed minutely. Bucky even let out a delighted laugh.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit down," Bucky told them and plopped down onto a rock, "We've been running after these damn things for four days straight." He rubbed at his legs with a grimace.

"Are Men of Gondor still welcome into Edoras?" Aragorn asked for some reason. His voice was urgent, eyes alarmed.

"Yes. Why do you ask? Are you of Gondor?" Eomer asked, not sure of this man. He had familiar Gondorian features, but there was something strange and regal about him.

"I am a Ranger of the North," answered Aragorn, "It is for my friends that I ask. We separated from Boromir of Gondor and Tony Stark at Tol Brandir when we began our chase; Boromir was too injured to make the journey and Tony went with him. They sought help at Edoras, the nearest settlement that we knew of. It is good to know that they will not be turned away."

"You ran from Tol Brandir in these four days?" asked Eomer, in awe.

"Even as you see us," Aragorn confirmed.

It was a miracle, Eomer thought, gazing at the strangers with new eyes. "You have traveled forty leagues and five as of this moment!" he said, wondering at the hardiness of these people.

"Leagues?" Bucky seemed confused by the measurement.

"There are three miles in each league," Legolas explained.

"You're telling me we just ran a hundred and thirty five miles in four days," Bucky stated with a look of disbelief at his friends.

The riders were itching to move on, and Eomer with them. He let out a whistle, thinking that these people deserved help even if not much could be given. "Hasufel! Arod! Signy!" he called.

Three horses trotted up, their saddles empty.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters," Eomer wished them, handing over the reigns. He jumped back onto his own horse and told them, "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands."

The stranger looked more determined than ever, even as the Elf patted the horses and Bucky clambered to his feet. There would be no turning them away from their task.

"We ride north!" Eomer called to his men. With a last look at the strange runners, he led his men away and against his own advice hoped that they found their missing friends.

As he looked to the north, he gritted his teeth. They would defend their homeland from the horrors brewing there, while they could do nothing else.

* * *

Eowyn had waited and worried whenever she was not busy trying to run a country, and it was leaving her more tired than ever. The stress of it was making her nauseous.

The moment James was gone, she had conferred with Hama as they inspected the defenses around the city. There were probably two hundred men on Wormtongue's payroll in Edoras and fifty of those in the hall itself, the man told her grimly. Those loyal to the crown and able to fight were much less, probably thirty including the elderly former soldiers.

"Is there any way of keeping them from getting weaponry?" Eowyn asked.

"They have some already, clubs and knives, but swords and such are mostly locked away in the armory," Hama reported. Hesitantly, he added, "Garulf will fight to the death to keep them from accessing it, but he is old and they are many."

That, at least, Eowyn had a solution for. "Have the armory locked," she ordered, "I will carry the key myself. It will perhaps buy us some time." That was all she could do right now, all she needed: to buy time.

It seemed that Hama approved. He was about to speak, but his eyes focused on something in the distance and he frowned. "My Lady, you may want to keep your sword handy," he told her and rode toward what he saw, loosening his own weapon.

When she looked, Eowyn spied two men walking over the hills toward them. As advised she kept a hand close to her hip, but did not draw her sword just yet.

Hama jumped down from his horse the moment he got within a few feet of them, instead helping the larger of the two men on. Reins in hand, he led them back to Edoras.

Eowyn let out a quiet breath and relaxed. The uncertainty of these days had her jumping at every shadow, and she was not the only one. Calmly she waited for the three to come back her way.

The man on the horse, she recognized with a shock as Boromir of Gondor. But he was injured, blood staining a length of bandage wrapped around his head. He otherwise seemed to be in passable condition, keeping balance on his own and speaking intensely to Hama. A round shield was thrown over each of his shoulders, one the familiar leather and steel, and the other bright red, white, and blue.

The other was more mysterious, with short dark hair and swarthy coloring but a handsome, if thin, face tilted upward to better examine Edoras. He wore a grey cloak and strange baggy blue pants, a pack on his back.

"Lady Eowyn," Boromir greeted her when he was in range, "I apologize for our intrusion into your lands, and beg your hospitality for myself and my friend, Tony Stark." He gestured to the man who walked beside the horse, who gave her a cheeky smile and a wink.

"Of course, Men of Gondor are welcome in Rohan," Eowyn responded with a dip of her head, "We should get you to Meduseld and have your head looked at. What news is there of outside lands?"

As Boromir filled her in, everything that had seemed like a personal problem was not so. All lands were growing dark. That Gandalf fell was a great loss, at least in Eowyn's opinions; as a child she had loved playing with the smoke rings he used to blow, and as an adult learned of his true powers.

"What's the stitch here? What's happened?" the stranger, Tony, asked as they walked through the gates and into Edoras. It was silent and cheerless now, and he appeared to not like it. The accent was a shock, yet another person from James's New York. Where was this place, for so many of their people to appear here in such a short time?

"Theoden King died this morning and we are waiting for Theodred King to ride back from battle," Eowyn shared, praying that he would, "Until then I am acting as Queen. Unfortunately, Saruman is in the process of taking Rohan for his own and there are few loyal men to help deal with his lackeys." She eyed Wormtongue in the shadows of the stairs of the hall and gave him a haughty look.

It seemed that Boromir noticed, because his face went hard. "What of your brother? Should he not be here to help?" he asked.

"Wormtongue had my uncle sign an order of banishment," Eowyn answered stiffly.

The noise Boromir made was dismayed. "Things are worse here than I thought," he muttered.

At the steps they dismounted and grooms took their horses into the stables. On foot, they ascended the steps of Meduseld only to run into Wormtongue.

"I see we have guests. Who might they be?" the vile man asked with a slippery smile.

"Tony Stark. Billionaire playboy genius philanthropist," the dark man introduced with a grin that bared his teeth. That he kept himself in front of Wormtongue, not allowing him access to the others, said much for his loyalty to Boromir.

"Ah. I see." Obviously, Wormtongue did not understand most of the words.

Neither did Eowyn, but she took the distraction to usher Boromir into the hall. Hama and Tony followed quickly.

"Real piece of work, I can see why you like him so much," Tony commented sarcastically.

The first smile she had worn since this morning came to Eowyn's face. "One can say that," she agreed as she opened the doors to the healing wing.

Upon seeing the bandage on Boromir's head, the healers swarmed. They poked and prodded it, pronouncing with relief that it was not infected or very severe. All they did was rebandage it and tell him that he was lucky, then to come back tomorrow.

"You look tired," Tony observed as they waited for Boromir.

"Running a country is no easy feat," Eowyn responded with a wry twist of her lips. She would never again criticize her late uncle for not having time for her.

"Yeah, about that, why were a bunch of guys glaring at us the whole way here?" Tony asked reasonably.

"They are Wormtongue's men," Eowyn said with meaning.

"Ah. Fun," Tony said lightly, nodding. His eyes were serious and calculating as he watched them watch him.

Though she would not know it for a while, that was when Eowyn gained a solid ally. As it was, they made plans to allow Boromir and Tony to rest for the day, then begin to help her the next. While Tony was no politician ("Last time I went to court, I exposed their agenda and pissed them off,") he was no slouch and between the three, they had a workable plan to delay disaster.

Over the course of the day, Eowyn got to know the men and found herself rather charmed. She had known of Boromir for most of her life but not gotten many chances to speak with him beyond the basic pleasantries. Now she was getting a taste of what her cousin and brother must have seen, and she envied them the chance to talk strategy with him in less dire circumstances. On the other hand Tony was entirely foreign: slick, sarcastic, and cutting. He proved himself beyond intelligent, however, a fascinating man.

She went to bed hoping that they, together, could hold out until Theodred got here.

The next morning at breakfast Hama told her and her guests, "During the night a rider brought in a boy that had been captured by Uruks. He is in the healing wing now and requests to see you." He seemed unsure of whether it was advisable, considering how busy they were.

"I can spare a few moments," Eowyn responded. It would only be a few, unfortunately.

"It is about time for me to get this checked again," Boromir said, tapping his bandage with a sardonic grin. It was a blatant pretext to follow her and make sure of her safety.

Instead of feeling annoyed, Eowyn was grateful.

The trip to the healing ward was, surprisingly, a high point in the day. Upon seeing the boy, Tony had let out a bark of laughter and rocketed forward to tackle the boy back onto the bed. "Steve! God bless America!" he crowed.

The boy winced, but returned the embrace quickly. "Good to see you too, Tony," he replied. He had the same accent as James and Tony.

Eowyn had to sit down at the realization that struck her. Even as Boromir and Steve greeted each other gladly, she wondered if she could possibly be correct. There was nothing for it, she had to ask. "Are you by any chance Steve Rogers?" she questioned, half hoping so.

"Yes, ma'am," the boy answered with a sunny smile as he disentangled himself from Tony with flaming cheeks, "Where's Bucky? James?"

It was a shame to have to tell him. "I sent him out to warn Theodred of a trap. He will not be back for at least a day." At least, Eowyn hoped that he would be back.

Steve's face fell, but when Tony looked at him, he gave the man a shy smile.

Not for the first time, Eowyn wondered what the Valar had against James. It was the only explanation for why the man he loved was in love with someone else.

* * *

The attack came suddenly, orcs coming from nowhere and everywhere. On their armor a white hand was crudely slapped on, and they were larger and stronger than any other orcs that Theodred had seen. It was a hard battle, and he was afraid- no, certain- that the Rohirrim were doomed. Men fell with screams of pain, the orcs only growing more powerful with each kill.

Suddenly, orcs began shrieking and clamoring. They were acting like an entire backup force had arrived for the Rohirrim, except that in the few seconds between opponents Theodred could see no horses and hear no battle cries. What was happening?

A figure in black sped from one enemy to the next, knives flashing and a metal arm gleaming in the moonlight. Amazed, Theodred paused to admire the speed and strength James displayed; punches and kicks crushed armor, his body twisting and turning to avoid weapons, always moving onto the next enemy.

The battle was soon over, James's arrival turning it into a bloodbath on the orcs' side. Within minutes no orc was left standing, but twenty of the Rohirrim were. Most of them were injured in some way, even Theodred favoring his right arm after getting a deep cut to the left.

"James, why are you here?" Theodred asked urgently the moment it was over, "What's happened?"

"We figured out that it was an ambush and I was sent to warn you," James answered, "Fat lot of good that did." He looked across the field, seeing Rohirrim and orcs fallen on each other, rain making the ground run red and black.

"We are alive, thanks to you," Theodred answered. Then he remembered that James was still healing from his last battle and turned the look on him that never failed to make his cousins flinch.

There was no reaction from James but for biting his lip. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say.

"Gather the equipment of the dead and burn them," Theodred ordered as he waited for his friend to find the words necessary.

"There is no time," James disagreed, "You are needed in Edoras now." He seemed very insistent, a far cry from the man who would not stand up for himself.

"Why? What's happened?" Theodred demanded.

"You are king now," James answered softly. The sympathy in his eyes was nearly unbearable.

The news knocked the breath from Theodred's chest. He knew that his father's health was in decline under Saruman's spell, but this… He had not been prepared for it actually happening. He was grateful when James began to help stack the bodies instead of waiting for him.

It was several minutes before Theodred could control himself enough to make a decision. "Leave the dead," he called, changing his mind, "We ride to Edoras with all haste." He called James over for any other news necessary.

The man was concise and clear as he listed out the events since Theodred left. Eomer had been banished for trying to bring the truth forward about Saruman, Wormtongue was stalking Eowyn with even more determination, and Eowyn had been forced to step up as Queen Regent until her cousin returned for his coronation. There was barely a shred of good news.

"When did this happen?" Theodred asked, hoping to make it home before much worse happened.

"This all happened by mid-morning today," James answered.

Theodred let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he wouldn't be too late. "Gather your horse, we ride as soon as everyone is saddled," he ordered.

It was several minutes, between the various injuries that had been dealt. More often than not riders needed assistance getting onto their horse and sometimes were unable to ride by themselves. When they were all finally ready, however, James was still standing on his own two feet with no steed in sight.

"Where is your mount?" asked Theodred. Had it wandered off? Rohirrim horses were better trained than that.

"I ran," James answered simply.

Though Theodred normally would not have believed anyone who said such, this was James and there were no signs of a lie. "Ride with me," he invited.

The other man climbed onto the back of the saddle awkwardly. His hands reluctantly splayed themselves on Theodred's hips.

"To Edoras!" Theodred called, and they began galloping.


	9. Double Vision

Thank you to **silmarlfan1** , **Em** , and **Kae Richa** for your reviews! And happy friendship day!

 **Important Note** :Last month was kind of a bomb as far as getting the words out went, so chapters might be delayed by a week here or there. I'm sorry. Things just went kablooey on me. I promise to finish this! It'll just take a while longer than I thought.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Double Vision**

 _"The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four people is suffering from a mental illness. Look at your 3 best friends. If they're ok, then it's you."_

 _― Rita Mae Brown_

Dawn broke to the sound of swords ringing in Meduseld. It could be heard clear from the gates, the clash of weapons and screams of dying men. But that wasn't Eowyn's current concern.

No, she was just trying to stay alive. Another swing of her blade lobbed a man's arm off and she took the opportunity to stab him through the chest before moving onto another opponent.

The cowards had attacked near dawn, when most of the town and hall were still asleep. It was admittedly a well timed ambush, but they hadn't expected such fierce resistance from the acting Queen or for her to not be alone. No, Tony Stark had been unable to sleep and given her company until they came out of nowhere. The noise of swords and knives clashing against each other woke the rest of the hall and that was that.

Desperately, Eowyn wished for her cousin to arrive right then. She needed his men and James; the men at her side in the hall were wearing down under numbers. For the first time she was in a battle and she found herself wishing to never encounter another so close to home.

Only Boromir and Tony were going as strong as before. As was told Boromir was a brick wall, giving up ground inch by bloody inch with as many men falling to his shield as his sword. On the other hand Tony almost seemed to dance around, spinning and ducking more than blocking, his movements fluid.

If only Eowyn had more than a scant few seconds between opponents to look at them. She was sure she would not be disappointed in their skills. It was all she could do to keep from being injured.

The doors banged open; Eowyn prayed that it was help and not more enemies.

It was those attacking her that fell, screaming. They seemed to realize that they were caught in a pincer, because their fighting only grew more savage and desperate.

A shout came from the side of the hall that led to the other rooms, "Bucky!" It was Steve's voice, he shouldn't have even been awake then.

Hama fell with a gurgle where he defended the Queen's side.

Rage encompassed Eowyn and she began to fight like a woman possessed. How dare they attack the throne! How dare they attack her guests! How dare they kill Hama! More and more men fell to her blade until there was only one left.

Eowyn paused. She could do nothing more than hold her sword steady and demand, "Release him this instant, Wormtongue!"

The counsellor was so white in the face that he was blue, one hand on Steve's shoulder and the other holding a knife to the young man's throat. "I do not think so, milady. The moment I do, you will kill me," he observed, panting with nervousness.

Looking at Steve's face, one would think that he was waiting in line rather than being held hostage by a mentally unstable man. Expression exasperated, he folded his arms over his chest with a sigh.

"Unhand our friend!" demanded the Dwarf who had arrived to help, pointing an axe at Wormtongue furiously.

Before Wormtongue had a chance to deny the Dwarf, there was a bang like nothing Eowyn had ever heard, loud and short and originating from the doors behind the craven counsellor. Almost before the noise came, his forehead was blown apart from the back and he dropped like a stone.

When Eowyn saw who was responsible, her face felt like it split open with her smile. James was back. His face was dead serious as he first looked down at the corpse, kicking it to the side, and then up at the rest of the room. "Sorry I'm late," he said unnecessarily.

"You are perfectly on time, James," Eowyn told him with a sigh of relief. Her legs shook with adrenaline and relief.

A man pulled a pistol like James's from his side and pointed it at her bodyguard. "How do you have my face?" he growled, and was it possible for them to have the same voice?

Eowyn refused to allow her friend to be threatened; she took the few steps forward that were necessary to put her blade to his throat. "Put your weapon down," she ordered calmly. That almost shattered when she looked at his face; it was exactly the same as James's, besides a slightly less crooked nose and the terrified confusion in his grey eyes.

Something poked at Eowyn's back, another sword. "Sorry, Eowyn, but I'm not afraid to kill a woman if she's threatening my friend," Tony said.

Betrayal wound its way up Eowyn's spine. Here she thought that they were allies. She was learning a great deal about the world today.

That did garner a reaction from James. He pointed his own pistol at Tony, face blank as usual but eyes stormy.

There was a tense standoff as the newcomers appeared to not know what to say.

"You wondered who put Steve in the hospital," Tony said, goading on the man who looked like James, "You're looking right at him."

There was a click as the look-alike's finger moved something on the gun.

Eowyn pressed her sword closer to his neck and felt Tony's sword jab her more sharply in the back as James clicked something on his own pistol.

"STAND DOWN!"

Before any of them knew they were doing so, they dropped their weapons. James and his copy put their guns away, heads snapping to the source of the order. Eowyn jerked her arm down to her side and she felt Tony's blade leave her back.

In the middle of the circle, Steve glared at the look-alike and then Tony. "Stop it, all of you," he told them angrily, "We've got more important things to think about than who hospitalized me last year and whose face it was first. Like the cavalry." He looked to the newcomers with a brilliant grin.

The dark haired man of the company, heart stoppingly handsome, stepped forward. "When Lady Galadriel told me that we would need our captain, that is not what I thought she meant," he said with a smile that made him glow.

"Good to see you too, Aragorn. Gimli, Legolas," Steve listed out, naming each of them, before he stopped, unable to form words.

Eowyn too was near incoherent, staring in wonder at the man she knew and yet was so different from how she remembered. Last she saw Gandalf, he was clad entirely in grey and looked older than anyone she had ever seen, a severe burden on his stooped shoulders. That same burden was still on him but he seemed better able to bear it now on his white-clad back, eyes sparkling as he looked from one of the living to the next.

"Wait wait wait, I thought resurrection wasn't a thing here?" Tony asked, disbelief in every fiber of his voice.

"I fell, through fire and water," Gandalf stated, and even his voice was the same but not, "But now is not the time for my tale. It appears that we stumbled upon something bigger than we knew."

Eowyn drew herself up as best she could. "Gandalf, it is a wonderful surprise to see you," she said in the understatement of the ages, "You and your friends were a great help. Without you all, we might not be standing." She gestured to the few remaining defenders of the hall, more than half beginning to tend to their wounds.

"Tell me, what news of your uncle?" Gandalf asked briskly, stepping further into the hall.

"He died three days hence," Eowyn answered in an overly composed voice. Combined with the shock of the surprise attack, all her weak emotional points were being hit.

There was suddenly grief on Gandalf's face. "He was a good man, and a good king," he said with sympathy.

Unable to stand it, Eowyn asked for a proper introduction to her saviors and was formally told which was which. The man with James's face was called Bucky. She blanched when she heard that, remembering Steve's words in the infirmary.

The two were still glaring at each other, or rather Bucky was glaring at James and James was busy checking Steve for signs of harm. With a satisfied nod Eowyn's bodyguard moved on to stand beside her.

It felt like having a hand back that had been chopped off. Weakly, Eowyn smiled up at him.

The response was for his metal arm to come up around her shoulders and squeeze her carefully to his side.

"Ah Valar, what is this mess?" Theodred's voice could not have been more welcome, or dismayed.

Immediately the tension in the room disappeared as he and his men entered, most of them injured as well. Even Theodred had a bandage wrapped around his arm, visible under his armor as he raised his arms to embrace Eowyn. The room was quickly starting to get set to rights, healers coming out of the wings to help the wounded and servants to clean up the blood and drag away the corpses.

Eowyn gratefully accepted her cousin's hold, in disbelief that they had both been so close to death in the past few days. "Wormtongue made his move. James killed him," she explained shortly, gesturing to the man, who was now smiling shyly down at Steve.

"Another thing I owe you," Theodred said, breaking away to clap James on the shoulder.

James shrugged. "It's my job," he mumbled, just loudly enough to be heard.

With an understanding nod, Theodred moved on to greet their guests. "Gandalf, you and your companions are most welcome to Edoras and Meduseld. I simply apologize for its current state," he told them, chagrined.

The Dwarf spoke up, then. "We were right in time. The lass was holding up, but Tony and Boromir were lagging!" he exclaimed, his voice teasing toward the men.

"Yeah, well the kill competition didn't start yet and if it did, I totally would have won," Tony boasted with a suave smile.

"Theodred King, what do we do with the bodies?" asked a servant sensibly.

It visibly startled him to be referred to as such. Once Theodred realized it was him being spoken to, he answered, "Bury the loyal. Burn the traitors." His mouth was in a hard line as he contemplated the idea.

The servant scurried away to fulfill her lord's bidding.

The few men able to stand knelt down, swords in front of them. "Hail, Theodred King!" one called, and was echoed throughout. Even the newcomers, plus Boromir and Steve dipped their heads in respect.

When Eowyn looked up through her eyelashes at her cousin, he seemed overwhelmed. "Rise and do your duties," he told them, voice choked.

Everything went back to normal so fast that it felt like time skipped.

Suddenly the floor was clean of blood; Theodred was in talks with Gandalf, Aragorn, and Steve; Bucky, James, and Tony were all in a staring contest with each other at Eowyn's side. To keep from doing something silly like passing out or screaming, she distracted herself with a question she had been wondering the answer to since she heard it. "What do you mean, about Steve being hospitalized?" she asked, sure that this was why they were fighting. Or at least Tony was.

It was Bucky who answered, and this time Eowyn was able to pick out small differences in his voice. His accent was exactly like Steve's and his voice was louder, pronunciation rougher. "You said in Moria that when you were from, Steve got his ass handed to him. Shot, stabbed, beat unconscious and nearly drowned," he said to Tony, dawning horror in his voice.

James looked more ashamed with each word.

"Yep," Tony agreed, voice almost as hard as his eyes. He stared, unblinking, at James.

"You said he did it," Bucky said, jerking his head at James.

"I did," the bodyguard admitted. His expression was just like when Eowyn first saw him awake, self conscious and desperate, as he glanced at Steve before lowering his gaze to the floor.

When Eowyn realized that they meant the same person she thought, she felt a sudden need to be sick. Even as Steve- little more than a boy in her eyes- was fussed over by the Elf, it was far too easy to see it in her mind's eye. Bruises and blood tarnishing pale flesh, bones as delicate as a bird's broken, eyes brighter than her own swollen shut as he weakly coughed up river water. The image was horrifying, and she turned to her bodyguard with a silent plea to tell her it was someone else.

The shame in James's eyes was debilitating. This was most definitely the same Steve.

"I should get beds ready," Eowyn excused herself hurriedly. No one said a word as she swept from the main hall.

The moment she was out of sight, Eowyn had to take a shuddering breath. Everything smelled of blood and the urge to retch only intensified. In a handy basin she did, coughing up the little that she had eaten that day.

Calloused hands rubbed her back and eased up another mouthful of bile.

"Thank you," Eowyn said, face burning with humiliation.

"I owe you an explanation," Tony said quietly.

Eowyn froze up, even as she wiped her mouth. The memory of a sword poking her in the back wasn't difficult to bring up. "Yes you do," she agreed coolly, spinning around to face the man.

While he didn't have any kind of shame visible, his face was dark and hands shoved into his pockets uncomfortably. "We're all from different times. Bucky is from seventy years behind, Steve and James from a year ahead of me," he said bluntly, "James must have gotten separated from Steve when they fell through their portal, ended up here." His eyes darted this way and that, mumbling words that must have been a foreign language, words like astrophysics and bifrost.

"And James?" Eowyn asked, cutting to the heart of what really concerned her. What her friend was capable of. What he had done to the man he loved.

The discomfort Tony showed only got more intense. He shuffled his feet, talked faster. "He and Bucky were the same person, but Bucky fell. No one should have survived what he did, but because he's enhanced he did. The enemy found him and... it wasn't pretty," he said abruptly, eyes far away, "It's not my place to tell you everything. I don't even know everything that went on, and I don't want to. When the big reveal finally happened, he didn't know who he was. All he knew was death and pain." He sounded like he was in agony just describing it.

"For seventy years?" Eowyn asked, unable to imagine. It was no wonder that James was more a hunted beast than a man when they first met.

"Seventy years of pain, humiliation, and being treated like a particularly naughty dog," Tony agreed, "They made him kill in their name. They made him torture. But there's still something of Bucky left in his head. When he didn't even know who he was, he knew that Steve was important to him. He saved Steve from drowning. I'm from just a couple weeks after that." The finish of his explanation was terse, like there was more to be said but he didn't want to.

It was almost too much to take in, combined with the other events of the day. "There is a great deal to ask James about," Eowyn acknowledged with a tight smile, "Thank you for your explanation." She made as if to go ready the rooms, like she had said.

"Sorry about earlier," Tony said unexpectedly, "You know, the whole Mexican standoff thing. I don't apologize often, but you deserve that one. You're a good woman."

Though Eowyn wasn't sure what a Mexican standoff was, she thought he meant the incident in the hall. "Thank you for your apology," she said, and with a dip of her head went on her way. There was much to be done and not enough time to do it, and she had a lot to think about.

It wasn't until she was laying out new bedlinens in the guest rooms that everything came together in Eowyn's head. Of course Tony would threaten her if she put a sword to Bucky's neck. He and Steve love each other, Bucky loves Steve, James loves Steve, and he might love them back. It would only make sense for Tony and Bucky to be just as mad about each other as about Steve.

Now just to see if she was correct.

* * *

Two children had been brought in with terrible news: wild men attacking villages. Theirs was gone.

The battle was over, but the war was just beginning, Steve thought as he looked at the map laid on the table before him. King Theodred was a man after his own heart, a cunning strategist but plainspoken and affectionate man. They had easily picked apart their enemies' plan: to catch Rohan and Gondor in a pincer and if possible destroy the ruling houses, destroy hope.

With James's help (and didn't his heart beat ever more wildly at the sight of him) that last one had been averted, at least as far as Rohan. There was no keeping Boromir out of a fight, so they'd just have to keep an eye on him. On the plus side, both countries had an heir and a spare (two spares in Rohan's case) so politically they were probably fine on that.

It seemed that King Theodred was amazed at his battlefield acumen, looking from his small stature to his points on the map and back again with an ever widening smile. "You have much knowledge of tactics for your age," he complimented.

Behind them, James and Bucky snorted in unison. There was a startled silence before Bucky went on to say, "Don't let that face fool you. He's only a year younger than I am, and an evil mastermind to boot."

In response, Steve shot a sunny smile over his shoulder. It would only make them more incredulous and that was one of the best games to play. He'd messed with oh so many people's minds that way…

"I can attest to that," Tony put in from where he leaned on a nearby pillar. His smirk sent evil thoughts into Steve's head.

The Fellowship members' lips twitched, but they restrained themselves. The hand that Legolas placed on Steve's shoulder, almost covering it, indicated that he still saw the smaller blonde as a child.

"Anyway, it looks like you have two options. You can ride out and meet Isengard's army, which you don't have the men for, or you can send out a rider for Eomer and wait in one of these fortresses for him to relieve you. Either way, you'll need to send the civilians to safety. Edoras doesn't seem secure enough for them to wait it out here," Steve said with a flourish at the place-names he had noticed in the mountains, Helm's Deep and Dunharrow.

"I agree with that assessment. There are few options available to you, with Eomer's forces riding north as we speak," Aragorn put in from around his pipe.

"Either, way, I am recalling my cousin," King Theodred decided with a grim smile. "Someone get me a rider!" he called to the hall at large.

"I will go," Gandalf said abruptly, "There are other things that I need to see to in that direction, as well." What he could possibly want to know that he could find in that blank space on the map, Steve wasn't sure.

King Theodred's eyes were bright as he scrutinized the old wizard. "Always coming and going as you will," he said, as if to himself, "Yes, that will do nicely. Take what you need and please leave as soon as you may, Gandalf." It was an order, but he took great care to make it not so obvious.

The twinkle in Gandalf's eyes said that he knew exactly what was happening. "Look for me by the first light of the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east," he advised them sagely. With a nod of respect, he took his leave.

Though he was sad to see Gandalf go after such a short time, Steve only called, "Be safe! No more dying and coming back!" Another round of that would surely give him a minor heart attack. Third time's the charm, as they always say.

There was no sign that the old wizard heard him. He simply left the hall, likely headed toward the stables.

"Alright, now we're down one wizard. Any decisions?" Tony snarked from the sidelines.

The look Steve gave him screamed that he needed to shut up right now.

King Theodred raised an eyebrow at the brunette, but went back to the map quickly. "The better move is one of the fortresses," he decided, eyes darting around the depiction of Rohan, "Helm's Deep has the better defenses and more space available behind the Deeping Wall for refugees, as well as the caves and escape routes into the mountains." He nodded to himself, thin-lipped but determined.

Steve disliked the idea of cornering themselves just as much, but didn't see an alternative.

From their troubled expressions, neither did Aragorn and Boromir.

"Garulf, if you'll spread the word?" King Theodred requested of his second in command.

"Yes, my lord," the older soldier said, and with a bow left the hall through the main doors.

"I apologize for not being a good host right now, but we have less than adequate time for the usual formalities. It's time to pack the essentials for our journey," King Theodred said briskly, looking from one person to the next. When his eyes lighted on Boromir he grinned, and clapped the other man's shoulder before he left the room. They must have history together.

The hall was suddenly a flurry of motion. Servants got to work taking down everything of value (to put in the cellars for safe keeping, they said) and packing the rest into trunks and carts. Eowyn was at the head of it all, James's ferocious glare only enforcing her own commanding presence.

No matter that Steve wanted to help, he was relegated to being checked over by Aragorn. "I have every faith in the healers of Meduseld, but I would prefer to see your injuries for myself," the dark haired man said kindly, but firmly. He wouldn't accept no for an answer.

From how they were coincidentally busy with other things at the moment, Tony and Bucky were unlikely to give him backup. Steve sighed and lifted off his borrowed shirt.

A hiss of sympathy came from the rest of the party. He must have looked fairly terrible.

"Sit," Aragorn ordered, pointing at a nearby stool. He then went to get his pack and all the foul medicines within.

With a grimace, Steve did as he was told. In this state, he couldn't afford to not follow the doctor's (healer's) orders. He winced several times as the bandages were cut away; they pulled at his scabs.

"Jesus, Stevie, what happened to you?" Bucky asked, horrified, once his friend's back was bare.

"He was whipped, and badly," Aragorn answered grimly, "Some of these go the whole way down to the muscle." He was gentle as he prodded the cuts, but the touch still stung.

When he tried to focus on anything besides the checkup he was receiving, Steve found himself watching James. The taller man stood slightly behind Eowyn and off to the side in a typical guard position, eyeing everything that moved for a threat. There must be a story behind that. Their eyes met, and Steve gave a weak smile.

It was returned hesitantly.

Eowyn turned around and whispered something to him. They spoke for a few moments in tones too low to catch anything of, and they were _awfully_ close (no, Steve wasn't jealous) but after a few moments James nodded curtly and moved away. She was probably telling him to stop scaring the servants away.

Instead of slinking off to a corner, James took a few steps closer. He stopped in his tracks however, a deer in the headlights.

When Steve looked over his shoulder to see why, he was able to see a multitude of death glares before Aragorn reprimanded him for moving. Chief among them was Legolas, whose eyes were admittedly scary-intense in the first place. They were closing ranks, trying to protect him. It was appreciated.

It was also annoying and unnecessary. "Stop it, that was a year ago and those were special circumstances," Steve told them, though his attempt at being stern was ruined by the flinch that he gave at cool goop being applied to his back.

"Special circumstances?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"I'd say that seventy years of brainwashing, torture, forced medical experimentation, and mental reprogramming would count as special circumstances," Tony put in dryly. He was playing the devil's advocate, rooting for the other side just because he could.

The look in James's eyes was that of a kicked puppy as he looked from one person to the next.

"You saved me when it mattered," Steve said, straight to James but also meaning Bucky as well, "I think that's the most important thing." In his book, it was an open and shut case. There was very little he wouldn't forgive his best friend, including this.

"You trust him?" Gimli rumbled, thumbing his axe affectionately.

This time, Steve smiled even as his chest was being bound. "With everything," he declared.

The sheer amazement on James's face was only seconded by the tears welling up in his eyes. He smiled too, shy and so unlike his younger self.

"Welcome to the group, laddie," Gimli said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. As far as he was concerned, that was that.

Steve appreciated the trust that the dwarf showed in his choices, more than he could say.

"If you hurt him again, you will die painfully, at our hands," Legolas stated without heat.

Both James and Bucky gulped, at that. Determination soon overtook that, and each gave a steely nod. The similarities in their mannerisms visibly startled them, despite that logically they knew that they were the same person.

That, Steve had to laugh at. This was going to be so much fun.

And so terrible on his control. Tony _and_ two versions of Bucky under the same roof as him for the foreseeable future? This was going to be torture.

Already, Steve adored it.


End file.
